Regrettable Actions
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Sixteen-year-old boys don't always make the best decisions, but Dean's been on a role lately. He's tired of playing big brother, tired of playing hunter's son. He'd like a little time to himself to hang out with a bad crowd, smoke and swear. He'd like a chance to do what the crowd is doing for once. He just had no idea that the crowd had a score to settle with Sammy.
1. Chapter 1

"Just … go to school, you little bitch." Dean said angrily, frustrated beyond his usual limits. But, damn, Sammy could do that to a guy. For a kid just 12 years old, Sam had a way of sounding more like Dean's father at times than John did himself - "Who are those guys, Dean? Why you hanging out with them? I don't like them; they're gonna get you in trouble one of these days."

Sometimes Dean just got tired of all the drama. He was 16 for freak's sake. He shouldn't be answering to some bossy, 12-year-old bitch who thought he knew it all.

And he didn't mean it. Not really. But when Sam had started in again on the walk to school this morning, Dean was just OVER it. He shoved Sam away and veered off in another direction, determined to find a different route to Moseby Jr-Sr. High. It was bad enough he had to pass the little twerp in the halls all day and put up with the kid staring disdainfully at Dean's choice of friends.

He just couldn't listen to it walking in every day too.

It was too much to ask of a guy.

Sure, Dean considered himself an excellent big brother, and most of the time, he loved having the kid tagging along. Sam was smart, clever and way too mature for his age. He had good intuition too. But the truth of the matter was, Dean didn't want Sam hanging around his current group of friends. They were okay to pass the time with, but honestly, Dean didn't really trust them. They weren't guys he'd feel safe leaving his wallet with; he sure as hell wasn't going to leave his kid brother alone with them.

This was one of the worst backwater holes Dad had ever left them in, and it was slim-pickins for friends. Dean suspected that's why Sam hadn't yet made one. They'd been here for two whole months, and yet Sam still walked in and out of the school alone, eyes peeled only for Dean.

You'd think a good-lookin' kid like Sam would have a line of chicks trailing after him, but Dean had studied some of the girls Sam's age here, and he'd found them to be mean and spiteful.

Must be something in the damn water.

Thankfully, Dean wasn't as selective as his brother when it came to choosing friends to hang out with. Sure, they had foul mouths, they disrespected women and they sure didn't rate high on the intelligence scale, but they knew how to have a good time.

Sometimes, that's all Dean really needed - some quiet place to drink a beer or two and blow off steam with other guys his own age.

Funny thing was, usually the longer he was with his chosen group of buddies, the more he found himself missing Sam. None of them had the kid's sharp wit or his whammy comebacks. And Dean had to cut his own IQ down to size a lot of the time when he'd toss out an errant remark, used to getting one of Sam's mow-downs in return, and it would just hang there in mid-air - over everyone else's head.

That was typically when Dean would say his goodbyes and head back to the crappy, abandoned house on the edge of town where Dad had left them.

And Sammy would be there, studying by flashlight or candlelight, and shivering inside his sleeping bag. It made Dean feel guilty, and that just pissed him off more.

He was 16, he shouldn't have to worry about leaving the kid all alone while he had a little well-earned fun.

Dammit.

Dean glanced back once at Sam, standing alone on the sidewalk where Dean had shoved him. He had his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders hunched forward against the frigid wind that buffeted them both.

And the look on his face.

Dean knew that look. The kid was trying not to cry.

And there was that guilt again. It made Dean angry. He stopped and turned, facing his brother. "I mean it, Sam. Scram. Or I'll make you wish you had." He stood staring his brother down, silently daring him to say something, to challenge Dean's authority as the older, wiser brother.

But Sam didn't. He just gazed back at Dean with this lost expression on his face, then he turned silently, hiked his book bag up his shoulder and quietly crossed the street. Dean watched him until he turned the corner, never once looking back.

The older boy sighed. He'd have to make that right come this evening. Couldn't have his pain-in-the-ass little brother hating him.

Deep down though, Dean knew he wouldn't. Sam just wasn't that type of kid. Probably Dean could beat him every day for a year, and Sam would still follow him faithfully - big, sad eyes locked on his big brother in solid hero-worship. Dean didn't know why Sammy thought so much of him. It made him feel both proud and terrified at the same time. He hadn't earned that right - that right to be everything in Sam's eyes.

Truthfully, Sam was light years beyond Dean when it came to everything that mattered.

Sam was good. He was kind. He had a heart the size of Texas, and a brain that was even bigger. He could debilitate most anyone with one well-aimed remark too, but he'd never channeled his intelligence and his wit against his big brother. And he'd had plenty of opportunity. Against Dad? Sure. But never Dean.

And the older boy thought he knew why.

In Sam's eyes, Dean was the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky. The thought made Dean snort. It was about as sappy as they came, but it was true. He had never, ever run across anyone as loyal as Sam.

Even when he treated him like crap on toast, as he'd just done, Sam wouldn't hold a grudge. He'd just come home and be a silent, calming presence until Dean deigned to speak to him again. Then the kid would act like nothing had happened.

Sometimes, he suspected that Sam felt he deserved to be treated like crap. Lord knew, Dad spent enough time telling him how unfocused he was, how unlike the hunter he needed to be. Dad criticized everything Sam did, good or bad. Somehow, nothing the kid managed to pull off was ever good enough for John Winchester.

And that made Dean angry. He had no idea why John couldn't see the amazing potential in his youngest. That was why he, himself, tried so hard to make it up to the kid.

But not today. Today, he was just … tired. Today, Dean wasn't even sure he felt like school. Hell, he might just find the guys and see who wanted to skip. He was sure at least one or two would be up for drinking beers under the bridge.

He smiled. That's what he needed: one whole day to himself to drink and cuss and talk about the girls he'd like to bang and to forget all about the responsibilities that came with being a big brother and a hunter's son.

Then, when he got home, he'd tell Sammy he was sorry and make it up to him somehow. Maybe they'd get a pizza. Sam would like that.

Dean turned and walked off to the pre-arranged meeting spot Darin had designated. The guys would be surprised to see him without Sam today, but maybe a little time and space between Sam and him was a good thing.

Dean had no way of knowing how soon he'd come to regret that final thought.


	2. Stormy Skies

Sam sighed and looked at his watch. He'd waited outside the school for 55 minutes; obviously, Dean wasn't coming.

Sam hitched his bag up his shoulder and started toward home. Fifteen minutes in and he stopped to root through his pack, hoping to find the gloves that Dean may or may not have put back. The older boy had borrowed them to chop wood last night, and Sam remembered asking him to put them back in the book bag, but a thorough investigation turned up nothing. Sam blew on his hands and rubbed them together, trying to get the feeling back. He was too cold to work the zipper on the bag, so he hugged it tight to his chest for the rest of the two-mile walk home.

The cold November wind buffeted him, pounding with painful accuracy against his face and straight through the thin, canvas jacket he wore.

Sam pulled the collar together, wishing the zipper still worked, but he'd had this jacket for going on four years now, and the sleeves were too short and the waist too high, and the zipper had broken two years ago in a heated battle with a wendigo in the hills of Colorado.

But no sense crying over broken zippers.

Probably, Sam should have started walking home immediately. He'd have been safely inside before the weather really turned rank because when Dean hadn't been at lunch, Sam realized he'd skipped school. Still, there was the off-chance that the older boy would show up to walk home with him, and Sam knew he'd be worried if he wasn't there. So he'd hung around and waited, hoping to avoid making his brother angry again.

Sam hated it when Dean got mad at him. It made him feel sort of all alone in the world. Sure, there was Dad, but Dad didn't get him the way Dean did. He still remembered his brother's harsh words from this morning. Sam hadn't meant to make him that mad, he was just trying to warn him about the way that one guy, Wade, looked at Sam.

It was just … weird. It was like Wade hated him or something, and Sam had no idea why.

Sam sighed when the skies opened up and the sleet started falling, and he still had a mile and half to go. He hoped Dean would be there when he got home. Maybe he'd already be home and have the fire stoked up and supper going. Sam smiled at that thought. Dean made the best spaghetti with meat sauce, and the younger boy took a minute to fantasize about coming home to a brightly lit house that radiated warmth and that smelled like spaghetti. Plus, He'd worry about his big brother being out in weather like this, especially with that group of guys he was currently hanging around with.

Sam didn't trust them. He didn't like Dean trusting them. They were the kind of guys who'd high-five you to your face and then steal your wallet when you weren't looking. He wasn't sure why Dean couldn't see that.

Dean was usually much better at picking his friends, but Sam knew that there was little to choose from in this town that was worse than most.

He was nearly a half-mile from home when he heard it - the rumble of the old Impala.

Dad.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and turned to wait for his father to pull alongside him. He climbed into the car gratefully, shooting his dad a look of ultimate gratitude.

"Where the hell is your brother?" John growled, taking in Sam's frozen and bedraggled appearance.

Sam shrugged. "Dunno."

John pulled back onto the road, "You don't know? He wasn't in school today?"

Sam was silent, not wanting to rat out his big brother.

"Sam? I asked you a question, son."

Sam just shrugged, "You'll have to ask him."

John shook his head and gritted his teeth. "Oh, don't worry. I will. You can bank on that." John reached over and angled the vents toward Sam, cranking the heat up to high and noticing how the younger boy leaned into it almost desperately. "You walk all this way alone? Where's your gloves?"

Sam shrugged, "Forgot 'em."

"You for …" John breathed heavily. "Dammit, Sam. I bought you those gloves for a reason. Did I waste my money? Gloves that like don't come cheap. You didn't lose 'em did you? Cause if you did, I'm not springing for another pair."

"I didn't lose them. They're at home."

"Good."

John turned into the long, dirt drive that led back to the old abandoned house the Winchesters were calling home these days, and Sam smiled when he saw the porch light glowing in the evening gloom. Dean was home, and Sam could almost smell the spaghetti cooking.

"Fool kid. What's he got the porch light on for? House is supposed to be abandoned." John grumbled, cutting the engine and climbing out of the car. "Sam." he called out, nodding to the weapons bag.

Sam nodded and reached into the back seat, grabbing the heavy duffle. He struggled to lift the strap onto his shoulder and haul the heavy bag up the front steps. When he got inside, he was pleased to find the fire roaring in the fireplace. He set down his burdens and wiggled out of his soaked jacket, socks and shoes. He sat right down on the floor in front of the fire and pulled his sodden shirts over his head, leaving only his jeans in place. Sam leaned in and closed his eyes.

Felt like heaven.

But his revery was interrupted by Dean. "Hey squirt. Sorry I wasn't there to meet you. How come you're so late?" Then Dean saw the weapons bag and realized that Dad was home, and he broke into a grin. "Hey! You got to ride in style, hunh?" Dean ruffled his hair as he went by, searching for John. "Damn, Sammy. Put some clothes on that scrawny chest, right?"

Sam smiled, reaching over and tugging the ratty throw off the sofa and wrapping around himself. He heard his father and his brother greeting each other warmly and suddenly felt ridiculously happy inside. He was warm. Dean and Dad were both home. And something smelled amazing in the kitchen.

Life couldn't get any better than this, could it?"

But then he heard loud voices and realized that Dean and his dad were fighting, and he frowned. That was unusual. These two got along like salt and pepper. Usually it was Sam who was at odds with their father. Never Dean.

But sure enough, the older boy came stomping back into the room and glared coldly at Sam. And Sam couldn't help it, he flinched a little. "Where's Dad?" he asked, looking behind Dean to see the Impala backing away down the drive.

"Gone." Dean said shortly. "And thanks, by the way."

"For what?" Sam asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Had to rat me out to Dad, didn't you? Just couldn't wait to tell him I cut school today, hunh? Just cause I wasn't there to hold your little baby hand walkin' home, you had to go all narc on me."

Dean stalked away into the kitchen, and Sam stared silently after him, having no idea what he'd done to deserve his brother's cold scorn.


	3. Hateful

Dean angrily grabbed the potholder and shoved the large pot of boiling pasta onto the back burner. This is what he got for trying to do something nice for Sam. Sure, he'd felt guilty for making the kid walk home alone, but the alternative would have been to have Wade swing by and pick him up when he dropped Dean off, and Wade was a good three sheets to the wind by the time Dean had gotten into the car with him.

No way was Dean letting Sam climb into the backseat with a drunk at the wheel.

But Sam, being Sam, couldn't wait to start whining to Dad. Dean could just picture the ride home in the Impala. He bet Sam had started in before Dad even had him in the car. Dean did this … Dean didn't do that … Dean skipped school … Dean didn't walk me home … Dean swore and dumped the pasta out in the sink.

He was pissed. Why should he slave over a hot stove, using up the last of their little bit of propane, for the ungrateful brat? Let him eat his damned spaghetti out of the dirty sink. Dean didn't care. He'd called Darin to come get him and they'd go out for pizza. He dug out his phone, feeling Sam's eyes on him.

Good.

"Hey man, it's me. Yeah, why don't you swing by and get me. Yeah. We'll hit the pizza place. My treat. Cool man. See you in ten." Dean disconnected the call and shot Sam a bitch face, not caring that the kid looked like he'd just lost his only friend.

"You leavin'?" Sam asked in a quiet voice. "Is Dad coming back?"

"Yes and no." Dean said shortly, unwilling to cut the kid any slack, though he could feel that Sam had something he wanted to say.

"Dean? I didn't …" Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

"Sure you did. It was the first thing Dad asked me. 'Why'd you let your brother walk home alone, Dean? Why weren't you at school today, Dean?' Dean slammed the plates back into the cupboard. "Pretty sure he was plannin' to ask me if I'd remembered to change your damned diaper next." He glared at his brother hatefully. "Why didn't you come straight home, Sam? If you'd been here when you were supposed to be, Dad wouldn't have been any the wiser."

Sam swallowed back the tears that were rapidly trying to force their way out. "I w-waited for you. I thought you'd be worried if I w-wasn't there." he hiccuped.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sure, start bawlin' now. That's real mature, Sam."

Dean pushed past his brother rudely, shoving him back into the door jam. He reached for his winter coat and his wallet. He grabbed hold of the door knob, seeing Darin's headlights pull up outside.

"Dean … don't go. Please?" Sam pleaded, his voice shaking.

But that just made Dean angrier. He glared back at his brother, shooting daggers. "Just shut it, Sam. I tried to do something nice for you, okay? And all I got was a knife in my back. I don't care if you eat or not. I'm going out with the guys and maybe I'll be back tonight and maybe I won't. So if Dad calls, you'll have plenty to tell him, right?" Dean looked back once, and then wished he hadn't. Sam stood there shivering in his wet jeans, a single tear breaking free and rolling down his face. The kid swiped it away with an angry gesture, and stood silent, refusing to apologize.

And Dean snorted. "Right Sam." He said, shaking his head. "Don't wait up." And he slipped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

He grinned at Darin as he hopped into the front seat, "Man, I'm glad you got a car." He said. "If I'd had to spend one more second with my brat of a kid brother, I might have shot the little bitch."

###

Sam stood silent as the headlights drifted back down the driveway. He waited until they disappeared from view before moving to the door and flicking the lock. He switched off the porch light and stood enveloped in darkness. Moving back into the kitchen, he found the flashlight that they always kept by the door and shined it into the sink and onto the whole pot of spaghetti. He was almost tempted, but Dean had washed their few dishes last and hadn't bothered to rinse the suds out of the sink. The noodles lay enveloped in a filmy layer of soap foam. As he stood there, his stomach growled menacingly, alerting him to the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since the morning. His lunch account at school was overdrawn which meant all he qualified for was a peanut butter sandwich, and he hated peanut butter.

Sam sighed and began scooping the slimy noodles out of the sink and into the garbage bag. He rinsed the sink out and washed the pot and the single utensil Dean had used. He moved to the cupboard then and checked out his options. There was a single jar of spaghetti sauce and a bag with a few potatoes left in it. He grabbed the sauce and the last of the loaf of bread and made himself three spaghetti sauce sandwiches. He set the rest of the jar of sauce down into the cooler. At least it was cold enough inside the kitchen to keep the ice inside the cooler from melting, and Sam thanked Mother Nature for that small blessing. Tomorrow was Saturday, and with Dad gone and no school, Sam figured Dean wouldn't bother coming back. He'd have to make the jar of sauce last if he wanted something more than potatoes to eat this weekend.

Sam moved back to the fire, stripping off his now frozen jeans and boxers and pulling on a warm pair of sweats. He sat down, wrapped himself up in the blanket from the sofa and ate his cold sandwiches, his warm, happy feeling from earlier dissipating in the chill, November air.

And if he cried as he ate his meal alone in the dark, well, who was ever going to know?


	4. Contrition

Dean sat in the booth, watching his friends devour the two large pizzas that were overflowing with meat and vegetables, and he frowned.

"What the hell did I just do?" He said out loud to nobody in particular.

Darin snorted and gave him a shove that nearly knocked him on the floor. "Made three friends for life, asshole." the boy chuckled, stuffing a slice of pizza topped with mounds of veggies into his foul mouth.

And as Dean watched, he thought back over the way he'd just treated his little brother.

Had he actually tossed Sammy's dinner in the sink? Had he actually turned away from his kid brother after Sam had asked him please not to go? Had he climbed in the car with his friends and called Sam a brat and said he wanted to shoot him?

What the hell was wrong with him?

He glared over at Wade. "Hey, asshole. What the hell was in that stuff we smoked today?"

Wade snorted, "Who knows, man? Made you feel good, right?"

"Fuck that," Grady cut in. "That shit made me mean as a snake. I beat the snot out of my cousin tonight."

"Why?" Darin asked, eyeing his friend with concern. "I thought you liked the kid?"

Grady shrugged, "Hell if I know. Just something he said hit me the wrong way and boom! I bashed the little shit right in the face." Grady trailed a long string of cheese from his mouth to his plate. "Feel real bad about it, too. Don't even remember what he said." He disconnected the string of cheese and looked over at Darin. The two locked eyes and then burst into laughter.

"You're fuckin' messed up, Grady." Darin chuckled, shaking his head.

Dean felt himself pale. He looked to Darin. "You feelin' weird at all?"

Darin shrugged. "I kicked my dog a few times when I got home. Normally, I'd never do that. But the fucker wouldn't stop barking, and he was pluckin' my last nerve, man."

Dean's eyes met Wade's. "What the hell did you give us, dude?"

Wade shrugged, "It's cool, Winchester. I smoke that shit all the time. Ain't killed nobody yet."

Dean sat still, thinking. What exactly had he said to Sam before he stormed out? Had he said something about changing his diaper?

"Oh God." Dean swallowed hard, feeling sick. Sam would … Sam would never get over Dean saying that kind of shit to him. Why the hell did he do it?

"I gotta run." he said, standing up. He tossed two twenties on the table and sprinted for the door, ignoring the sounds of his friends swearing behind him.

Outside, He looked around for the best option to steal. He needed a car and he needed it ASAP. But first he needed to make a pit stop.

###

Dean eased the front door open soundlessly and stepped carefully over the salt line, shivering. Damn, it was just as freezing in here as it was outside. He let out a silent breath and shook his head as it condensed in a cloud in front of him.

He stopped dead when his eyes noticed the little-brother-shaped bundle camped out by the waning fire in the decrepit fireplace. He sighed.

Damn, he was an asshole.

Dean stepped over the pile of schoolbooks that lay scattered next to Sam and looked down. Even in his sleep, the kid was shivering. He knelt down and gently nudged the quaking pile.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam woke with a start, instantly on high alert, and Dean smiled.

"Good reflexes, geek boy."

"Dean?" Sam relaxed, rubbing two fists across his eyes and looking all of five years old when he did it.

"Yeah, it's me. Why you sleepin' on the cold floor, man?"

Sam thought for a moment, his thoughts still slightly sleep-scattered. He shrugged, "Was warmer by the fire."

"Yeah? Well, it's cold as balls now. Come on, kiddo. Let's get you on the couch." Dean reached down a hand and tugged his brother to his feet. As Sam padded over to the sagging couch, Dean scooped up the sleeping bag and blankets he'd left behind. He helped his brother get settled, then upended an old five-gallon bucket to use as a seat. He perched across from Sam.

"Hey, uh, Sammy?"

"Hmm?" Sam asked, burrowing down and trying to find even an iota of warmth in the frigid room.

Dean looked woebegone. "I'm sorry, dude. I … I was a total bitch to you. You didn't deserve any of that."

Sam's eyes widened. Apologies from his older brother were like the northern lights. You had to soak them all up at once because they were rare displays. Sam shrugged.

Dean studied him, Sam looked like shit. Dean could tell he'd cried himself to sleep.

And that thought just made him feel like the biggest pile of shit on Crap Mountain. He smiled, "Hey, you hungry?"

Sam's growling stomach answered back, and Dean's smile turned into a grin. "Here, I brought you a peace offering." He handed Sam the heavy foam take-out tray.

Sam took it and sat up. He looked quizzically at his brother, and carefully popped the top. His eyes went huge and the grin that lit his face was worth every penny Dean had spent on the double helping of spaghetti and meat sauce with sides of rolls and mozzarella sticks.

Sam sat, inhaling the scent that suddenly made his stomach want to eat his stomach. He examined the contents carefully. The warm pasta was heavy with homemade sauce - bits of mushrooms and green peppers and tons of meat floating everywhere. Four big meatballs took up residence right in the center, and off to the side, the rolls and cheese sticks waited.

Sam looked up at Dean with such an intense look of gratitude that it made Dean's eyes water.

"What? You like spaghetti." He tried to cover. "Hey, you eat up. I'll get the fire goin' again." Dean started to rise, but Sam stopped him.

"Did you have pizza?"

Dean shrugged, "The guys had pizza. I cut out early." he said, noncommittally.

Sam picked up the plastic-ware that had rested atop the tray. "They sent two forks." He handed one cellophane-wrapped package to Dean. "Help me eat it?"

Dean couldn't believe this kid. He'd been a total bitch to him not three hours ago, and yet still, here he was willing to share the last he had to eat. Dean shook his head, smiling softly. "You eat it, Sammy. I got it for you. I'm real sorry about tossing the other in the sink."

But Sam was persistent. "Dean, come on. I can't eat all this. It's just gonna go to waste if you don't help me. And you know what Dad says about wasting food." Sam resorted to the pleading beagle eyes.

And Dean sighed, knowing he was beat. He sat back down and accepted the plastic fork, but it was Sam's grin as they both dug in that warmed him more than the hot, spicy pasta.

###

Dean tried to be quiet as he lugged in the firewood. They'd finished off the spaghetti, and Sam had sat back, rubbed his stomach, burped and promptly fell asleep. Dean had quietly tossed the empty container in the fireplace and tugged the covers up over his brother.

He settled down by the hearth and began piling split logs onto the dying embers, swearing when he noticed the stack of bread slices with what looked like red filling in the middle. Dean counted four slices plus one … sandwich … that had only a single bite missing. He picked it up and looked at it, wondering where Sam had found strawberry jelly. Then he took a sniff and started.

Holy hell.

The kid had made himself spaghetti sauce sandwiches.

Dean swallowed hard. No way. No way in hell Sam had been forced to resort to fucking spaghetti sauce on moldy bread for dinner.

In a fit of rage, Dean tossed the soggy mess into the fire, plate and all. He was pretty sure he couldn't hate himself more than he did right now.


	5. Petulant Dean

Dean smelled coffee. He sat up and grinned. The smell of hot coffee already brewing in the morning meant Dad was back with supplies. Sammy could have a real breakfast this morning. Dean could have his coffee that he'd been without for a good week, and Dad … maybe Dad would stick around a bit this time. Hell, maybe he'd even come home to pack them up and move on.

Dean hoped so. He was about done with this crappy town. He didn't even think Sam would mind leaving this hole in the rear view.

He slipped out from under the covers and stood up, searching for his shoes. He stretched, wincing. The armchair might keep him off the cold floor every night, but it was hell to unbend himself from every morning. He glanced over at the couch and grinned - nothing sticking out over there but a wild tuft of hair. He sent his pillow sailing in its direction and snickered when Sam popped up like the gopher in a game of Whak-a-mole.

Hey, PITA, you smell that?" Dean asked.

The bitch face came first when Sam realized his brother had just called him a pain-in-the-ass, but then the wafting smell of coffee must have registered because suddenly a smile the size of Canada lit the kid's face.

"Is that … coffee?" Sam asked, sniffing like a springer spaniel into the wind.

Dean grinned again, "It is."

Sam sniffed again, "And … bacon?"

Dean's eyes widened. It was. It was bacon. Both boys locked eyes and dove for the kitchen at the same time, grabbing and pulling at each other to be the first one through the doorway. They exploded into the next room and halted, all eyes on their father.

John Winchester was just setting a paper plate heaped with sausage and bacon on the three-legged table. The stack of empty boxes that acted as a fourth leg had been pushed under as far as possible to make room for three lawn chairs. Dean and Sam looked at the set-up in wonder, trying to remember the last time the three of them had sat together at a table to eat a meal. John looked up and smiled, gesturing to the chairs.

"Found 'em out in the shed. Think I shook all the spiders off, but be careful. You never know."

Dean stumbled over to the coffee pot, grabbed a foam cup and filled it. "Thought the propane was all gone?"

"It is. I used the camp stove." John replied simply, cracking eggs into the bacon skillet.

Dean eyed the overhead light. "You got lightbulbs too?"

John nodded. "We're gonna be here for a while, so I got some more gas for the generator. Just go sparing, hunh? I think we're far enough out in the boonies that no one will catch on to one little light. Just don't go lighting the place up like Christmas." He looked as Sam as he added that last part.

Sam shook his head. "We won't. Thanks, Dad!"

And Dean could tell that Sam's enthusiasm over a simple lightbulb - something that nearly every other 12 year old on the planet took for granted - bothered their dad, but John hid it well. Dean felt the pang way down deep though.

Dean could get along however he had to. It hurt that Sam had to live this way though. The kid definitely deserved better than he ever got. He glanced over at the boy in his too-big sweats and bare feet and frowned. "Where're your shoes, Sam?" He complained. "You're gonna get pneumonia."

Sam shrugged, snagging a piece of bacon off the plate, popping it in his mouth and closing his eyes to savor it. "Wet. Gotta dry 'em out." He said. "S'good bacon, Dad." He added.

Dean sighed exaggeratedly, "You can't be barefoot, Cindy. Geez, it's like 15 degrees out. I swear. You'd think you were two instead of 12." Dean returned to the living room and glanced around for Sam's shoes. He found them on the floor beside the dying fire. Placing them upside down on the stone hearth, he poked up the embers and added more logs. He dug through his own duffle, then, and came up with his last pair of clean socks. They had a hole in the toe, but at least they were thick, wool hunting socks. He carried them into the kitchen and tossed them to Sam. "Here, little girl, you forgot your lollipop." He said, grinning.

"Bite me, Dean." Sam griped, but he accepted the socks gratefully, Dean noticed. He pulled them onto his feet immediately.

And when Sam's eyes closed in contentment at the sudden warmth, Dean had to look away.

"So, we're staying awhile?" Sam asked suddenly, as John slid two eggs over easy onto his paper plate.

The older man nodded, "'Fraid so. Damn thing slipped away from me."

Dean filled his own plate and settled into the lawn chair next to his brother's. "What is it?"

"Vetala." John said after a pause.

Dean's eyes went huge. "Dad! You can't go after vetala on your own! They hunt in pairs!"

Sam stopped eating, concerned. "Dad?"

But John just winked at his youngest. "Eat your breakfast, Sammy." Turning to Dean, he added. "I got it covered, Dean. Stop worrying."

But Dean wasn't having it. It was bad enough they had to stay holed up in this shit town, but finding out that Dad was hunting vetala on his own was too much. "I can help!"

John nodded, "I know you can, Dean. But what I need from you right now is for you to look after your brother. We can't leave him here all alone. Not with these creatures stalking around. You know how vetala target their victims, right?"

Dean was silent, knowing what his father meant, but too pissed to heed his warning.

Sam looked from one to the other. "How?" He looked at Dean, "How do they?"

Dean just shook his head and started in on his eggs.

Sam looked to his father, "Dad? How do vetala find their victims?"

John sighed, pulling his own chair up to the table and pulling sausage onto his plate. "Vetala generate from the souls of dead children, Sam. They're drawn to kids. That's not to say they won't take an adult if the situation presents itself. But typically, vetala prefer children because they're children, themselves."

Sam blinked. "That's sad."

But John shot him a stern look. "It's not sad, son. Don't ever think of vetala as having feelings or ethics or anything of the kind. If they get you, they kill you. And it's long and slow. They feed on their victims repeatedly for days until there's nothing left. Vetala are not creatures you ever want to underestimate or sympathize with."

"That's exactly why I should be helping you, Dad!" Dean interjected. "Those things look human. They can take on the appearance of anyone at any age. You could be standing right next to one and never know it."

"Like I said, Dean. I have it covered. I feel much better knowing you're here to look after your brother. I can look after myself."

But Dean loved the hunt. He loved the mystery and the thrill and everything surrounding it. What he didn't love was being left behind, out of the loop, while his dad hunted down dangerous vetala all alone. Worse, there was nothing to do in this shithole town, and knowing he could be out there, learning the habits of creatures as dangerous as these, instead of wasting his days inside a stupid schoolhouse was a revelation he couldn't come to terms with. .

It was too much to ask of a guy like Dean.

"So send Sam off to Bobby or Pastor Jim or somebody." Dean blurted out without thinking, not noticing when Sam's head jerked up in surprise. "He'll be safe there, and then I can help you."

John shot his son a warning glance. "I've said all I'm going to say on the subject, Dean. You're going to stay back and sit this one out and keep your brother safe. I already have a call into Caleb for help."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "So Caleb gets to go hunting vetala while I'm stuck here babysitting? That's real fair."

John glanced over at his youngest son, noticing the pink flush that crept up his neck at Dean's cruel words. "Dean! Drop it. That's an order."

Dean's jaw clamped shut, but his eyes continued to shoot daggers. He aimed them toward Sam, who was looking straight back at him, face flushed. Dean swallowed, trying to calm his temper before it got him into trouble.

"All I'm saying, Dad, is that we're a family. It's not fair that you push me in a corner and then call for Caleb to help you out. That should be my job. Caleb's not family."

John was tiring of the whole conversation. "You have a job already. Your job is to look after Sam. That's more important, and that's the end of this discussion." He said simply.

And Dean exploded. "But I don't wanna look after Sam! I wanna hunt! Let Caleb do diaper duty! I'm your son! I should be the one helping you hunt!"

John flew to his feet, his eyes darting to Sam. The kid looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him, and John could tell he was one more snotty remark away from bursting into tears. He grabbed his oldest son with a firm grip on the back of his neck and steered him toward the door. "Let's you and I go have a little heart-to-heart out on the porch, Dean." He said in a voice radiating danger. Lesser men had turned and fled when John Winchester took that tone, but Dean wasn't his son for nothing. He shot his brother a single look filled with all the venom he could muster, as Dad dragged him out of the kitchen and out of the house.


	6. Homeless

Sam opened his locker door and tried to bury himself inside it.

It had been a horrible day. Saturday's fiasco at breakfast was still fresh in his mind, and apparently, in Dean's mind too. His older brother had barely spoken to him since. Dean had tolerated him on the walk in this morning, and that was it - no conversation, no kidding around. Just a big brother with a silent scowl on his face until he'd spotted his friends. Then Dean's face had lit up like it used to light up around Sam, and he'd hurried forward to lean against the brick wall of the school with Darin and Wade and Grady, looking cool and watching all the girls walk in.

Sam had just ducked his head and tried not to cry as he passed by his brother and his friends. Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look up and see the same old daggers his older brother had been shooting him for days.

Sam was just tired of it all, really. He hated this school, hated this town, hated that the most important person in his life didn't seem to want to be around him at all anymore.

It all just came together to make Sam feel like he was invisible.

That was, until Wade made it a point to crash into the door of Sam's locker while Sam was still in it. The side of Sam's face took the brunt of it, with the latch all but impaling itself in his cheek. Sam jumped back and yelled, hand going to his injured face. He scowled at Wade as the older boy chuckled and drawled.

"Oh, sorry there, SAMMY." He snickered. "Guess I didn't see you." He sauntered off away from Sam, looking back once and making a face. Then he strode away laughing.

Sam glanced around him to see if anyone had just witnessed what had happened, but nobody seemed to care at all. The younger boy sighed and lowered his hand to see blood. He shook his head and made his way to the bathroom alone.

###

Dean glanced at his watch and shook his head. It was probably time to wrap this up. School would be letting out in a few minutes, and Sam would probably wait for him by the entrance. Dean moved over to the edge of the roof and looked down. He could see everything from up here. Hell, he could keep an eye on Sam for nearly a mile if the kid walked home their usual way. That was when he made the decision to sit back down on the tarred roof and chill. Wade passed him the pipe, and Dean took it, burying his reservations beneath the fact that Dad didn't give a rat's ass about him anymore. All he was good for was babysitting detail, and while Dean wasn't yet willing to give up that role entirely, he didn't see any harm in watching over the kid from afar.

It would sure spare him all the Sammy angst.

Damn, Dean was tired of the Sammy angst. Nobody, anywhere could angst it up like his dorky kid brother, and Dean just needed a little break. Just a little one.

He sat back and inhaled deeply, smiling to himself. Just a little time to himself to spend with his friends, that's all he was asking. Of course, he'd rather be hunting vetala, but Dad had been pretty clear that wasn't gonna happen, so Dean figured what the hell?

He started a bit when the dismissal bell rang. The clatter was deafening up here on the roof, and then he waited a bit until he heard the front doors open and the chatter of children emerging. After about fifteen minutes, the buses began pulling away, and the noise level dropped off. Dean stood and peered down again.

He spotted Sam right away. The kid was waiting on the curb by the bus loop, a few stragglers ambling out behind him and scattering off into all directions. Dean grinned, curious to see how long he could make his kid brother wait it out, but the grin disappeared immediately when Sam hiked up his bag and began walking toward home.

The little shit wasn't even planning to wait for him. That was gratitude for you.

Dean snorted, whirling away from the edge and plopped himself back down in the circle beside his friends. They were mostly all wasted and weren't saying much so Dean decided to join them.

###

When Sam had reached the old access road that led back to the house and hadn't yet caught up to his brother, he realized he was probably going to be spending the evening alone again. He shook off the pall caused by the freezing drizzle and his low mood, took a deep breath and started up the lane. At least there was food at the house to eat tonight. He could get warm and dry and full. Afterwards, maybe he'd build up the fire and settle down with his history book.

It wasn't a madcap existence for sure, but at least it felt normal.

Sam slipped inside the house and dropped his backpack on the couch. He relit the fire in the fireplace and kicked off his wet shoes, propping them on the hearth. Shucking his jacket, he draped it over the back of a lawn chair and pulled it up to the fire. He was in the process of changing into dry sweats, when he heard the car pull up outside.

It was only by sheer luck that Sam saw the police car before the officers saw him. He swore and slipped out the back door, ducking into the woods. He was close enough to see the three men talking and to hear what they said.

"... squatters, looks like."

The man who must own the property nodded. "Neighbor said he's been seein' lights over here at night for at least a week. I should have come by sooner, I guess."

"Looks like they're set up for the long haul. Got the generator and everything going. Looks like someone just started the fire." the older officer said when he emerged from the house Sam had just vacated. "Fully stocked kitchen, too. At least we know they'll be back."

The second officer nodded, "And when they show up, we'll be waiting."

Sam shook his head, knowing Dean and Dad would never stumble into such a trap. Sam might, maybe, but never Dean or Dad. He frowned. All of his clothes, even his shoes, were inside. Sam huddled on the frozen ground in bare feet and sweats - no coat, no gloves.

Sam did a mental inventory of what Dean had taken with him this morning, but he didn't think it was much. Sam was sure Dean had his gun. He never left the house without it. Sam didn't have the pocket knife Dean had given him though. It was in his backpack, and Sam thanked his lucky stars that he never wrote his name on any of his books or schoolwork until it was time to turn it back in. But then Sam thought about all the food Dad had just put in the cooler and the cupboards, and his heart dropped.

He thought about the phone tucked away in the pocket of his coat too and sighed. It was just a cheap throwaway, and had no numbers or photos stored on it, but still … it was the only way he had of contacting Dean and Dad.

Sam stood weighing his options when the sky opened up for good, and sleet pelted down all around him. The woods that sheltered him turned into a glistening winter wonderland as Sam tried to make his way to shelter.


	7. In Custody

Dean gave a sly smile as the officer plopped the paper bag down in front of him. On a good day, Dean would never have fallen quite so far behind Sam as the two hurried home from school. On a good day, he wouldn't have been messed up and more than a little out of it from whatever the hell that shit was that Wade was smoking.

On a good day, he would have seen the cops staking out the house where he and Dad and Sam were currently squatting.

But this hadn't been a good day.

It hadn't been a good day, and the two officers were on him before he even realized he was being watched. One took his book bag. The other steered him toward the cruiser, locking him securely in the back seat.

Then the questions had started.

Dean had answered them all sincerely. His name was Tommy Shaw. He was 21 years old. He was staying out here at the edge of nowhere all by himself. He was carrying a book bag filled with high school books because he'd found it lying by the roadside. He had a .45 tucked in the back of his jeans because … because … well … he'd found it with the book bag.

At that last revelation, the officer in charge had snorted. Telling his partner to stay and stake out the place, he'd driven Dean back to the precinct and handcuffed him to the table in the station's only interview room.

They'd left him then, to stew awhile, with that single word that felt like fear echoing through his mind.

Sam.

Where the hell was Sam?

But now the officer was back, and he was playing good cop. He smiled down at Dean like he genuinely liked him. He opened the handcuffs and let Dean rub the circulation back into his wrists. Then he handed him a soda.

"You drink soda, son?"

Dean smirked, "Always been more of a coffee man, actually."

The officer nodded, stepping to the door, he gave a quiet order to someone outside, who brought him a cup of coffee. Sitting across from the boy, he offered the steaming cup to Dean. "Coffee it is."

"Thanks." Dean offered, taking a sip. It was surprisingly good.

"So … Tommy … tell me … what's your real name?"

Dean smiled.

The officer nodded. "Who's staying out at the old Hammer place with you? We know you didn't set that all up yourself - the generator, the fuel for the generator, the wood, chopped and waiting?"

"I'm a handy guy." Dean confessed, grinning.

The cop looked him straight in the eye. "You're a YOUNG guy, is what you are. No way you're 21 kid. I got a teenager at home. He's sixteen, and you remind me a lot of him, right down to stink of the herbs wafting off you. Are you sixteen? You go to school here?"

Dean took a sip of his coffee, staring the man down over the rim of his cup.

The cop sighed. "So this is how it's going to be? You know, if it weren't for the gun, I'd have to let you walk right out of here, and I'd have a problem with that - letting a kid like you leave alone. Are you alone, son? You got a mom? Got a dad?"

Dean continued to challenge the man with his eyes.

"Got a younger brother, maybe?" The officer asked, searching for Dean's reaction.

It took everything Dean had not to react at the mention of Sam, but he thought he reigned it in pretty well.

But the cop saw. "I thought so." He tugged the paper bag toward him, opening it and reaching in. He eyed Dean. "You know, it's 26 degrees outside right now." He said, pulling out Sam's raggedy jacket and placing it carefully on the table in front of Dean. "Mighty cold not to have your coat, don't you think?"

Dean's stomach churned. Did this mean they had Sam too? How the hell could they have his jacket if they didn't have Sam?"

The man studied him silently. But Dean refused to even look at the jacket.

"Okay," the cop nodded. "Maybe these, then." He produced Sam's sneakers, still soaked through from the walk home.

Dean's eyes widened then. He couldn't help himself. He looked from the tattered footwear to the officer, swallowing hard. How the fuck did they have Sam's shoes? The kid had one pair of shoes. If they weren't on his feet then …"

"He's barefoot." The cop finished the thought for him.

Dean's haunted eyes met the officer's.

The man spoke, "Your little brother. He's barefoot, son. And he's out in this." The cop gestured to the window where sleet pelted down in a steady deluge. Then he reached into the bag a final time and pulled out Sam's pocket knife - the one Dean had given him and that the kid never, ever left behind - Sam's phone, and Sam's history book. He placed them in a line on the table in front of Dean.

The cop held up the book. "Seventh grade history. This tells me more than you realize, Tommy. It tells me you got a 12-year-old brother who goes to school nearby." He tapped the sneakers. "These tell me he's barefoot." He nodded to the jacket. "That tells me he's out with no coat on. We think he bolted out the back when the cruiser pulled up."

Dean's eyes automatically tracked to the knife, then.

"That." The officer added, "Tells me the kid's got no way to practice his survival skills or his boy scout training or whatever." The cop handed Dean the phone. "He's got no way to contact his big brother either. You ready to talk now?"

Dean leaned back, trying to paste the usual smirk on his face, but it somehow fell short. His eyes flicked to the window again.

"Twenty-six degrees, Tommy."

Dean swallowed, studying the man before him, before making his decision. Visions of him and Sam in separate foster homes flitted through his mind. Sure, the kid had been plucking every nerve he had lately, but that didn't mean Dean wouldn't die without him.

"Got no idea what you're talking about, man. I'm all alone and just passin' through." He smiled shakily and lifted the cooling coffee to his lips as the officer's eyes turned tired. He keyed his radio.

"Bring in the camera."

When a female officer entered and took Dean's picture with a Polaroid, he did his best to look unconcerned. "Need me autograph that?" He quipped, heart racing. Why the hell did they want his picture?

The cops ignored him. "Take that around to the local schools and see if you can get a hit. If you get a hit, find out about the brother. Right now, we're treating this as an endangered minor. I want a search party out at the Hammer place, combing the woods." He looked down at Dean, then back at the female officer. "and get a menu from Jay's. It's going on 6:00. Kid's gotta be starving."

They left Dean alone then, alone with his coffee and his thoughts and with everything Sam owned. Dean smiled as he palmed Sam's knife. The weapon was small and, apparently insignificant, he mused as he moved to stand by the locked window.

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thanks to everyone who is reading and taking the time to review. I realize that Dean seems out of character in this fic, but I picture him having moments like these on occasion - especially as a teen. Dean had a lot of responsibility tossed in his lap at a young age and, being human, had to have occasionally suffered from his own selfish moments. Every fic I've written to date features a super-responsible Dean, and I thought it might be fun to take a shot at portraying him in a more realistic way. The Dean in this fic is decidedly human. He's full of teenage angst and not immune from making bad decisions. He's a tad immature and a bit self-centered at times, which sets up the story line for all of his regrettable actions._


	8. Discovered

Dean wound the paper bag up as tight as he could and tucked it tightly inside his jacket as he kept to the shadows. He was equal parts grateful and pissed that it was November - grateful because 6:30 pm in November was full-on dark and pissed because it was 26 degrees out here and felt like every frigid degree of it. He waited until he was safely away from the jail before stopping to call Dad.

But John, heavy in the midst of a hunt, wasn't answering. Dean left him a message and weighed his options.

If it had happened the way the cop had said, then Sammy was in the woods somewhere out by the old farmhouse.

But Dean knew he couldn't risk searching there - not with the locals all fired up over a missing kid.

Without really thinking about it, Dean tried the door handle of a black Toyota that was parked along the street behind the local bar. Finding it unlocked, he settled inside and had it hot wired and running in under a minute. Cranking the heat to high, he kept the headlights off as he crept away from the curb and headed out of town in the opposite direction from the Hammer place.

He needed time to formulate a plan. And until he had one that was rock-solid, he would have to push thoughts of his pain-in-the-ass little brother to the back of his mind.

That was easier to say than it was to do though, and Dean couldn't help but picture Sam's face the last time he'd seen it. The kid had walked right past him at school that morning, wearing such a look of misery on his face that even Dean, pissed as was, had felt a twinge of remorse. He was set to toss a smile in his little brother's direction the moment the kid looked up.

But Sam hadn't looked up. He'd just passed right on by, eyes cast downward, shoulders hunched, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

He'd looked beaten, Dean thought.

Sam had looked like he'd lost his best and only friend, and Dean supposed that's probably what it felt like to the kid. It had only ever just been the two of them, after all. And Dean had been doing all he could to avoid the kid lately.

Sam probably did feel all alone in the world.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean whispered, and if he sniffed, it was only because of the cold. "I'll make it up to you, kiddo. I promise. Just be all right for me, okay? Just be safe and warm and waiting for me; that's all I ask." Dean chewed his thumbnail as he drove away in the opposite direction from his brother.

###

When Sam stumbled upon the small shed hidden in the back of nowhere, he sighed with relief. It didn't look like much, but inside it would be dry, at least. He tugged the door open and stepped inside, his eyes widening in surprise.

There was light here, and heat. There were light and heat and plants growing in pots on wooden shelving all around the inside of the shed.

A greenhouse, was Sam's first thought. But upon closer inspection, he realized the plants that grew large and bushy here weren't legal to grow. The lights were grow lights, and they were providing everything the plants needed to thrive in captivity.

Sam had stumbled onto someone's field operation, and he should probably keep right on going.

But it was so warm. It was warm, and the lights mimicked the sun, which made him feel even more reluctant to leave. Instead, Sam settled down in the corner, atop a plastic-wrapped bale of peat moss and turned one of the lights onto his frozen and battered feet.

It felt a little like Heaven, and once he leaned back against the solid wood wall, and his feet began to warm up, he pretended it was the warmth of the sun shining down on his thawing body.

It took only moments for him to nod off.

###

Wade's voice was angry. "Fucking lost kid … and now we got people swarming all over the property. There's no way they won't find it." He growled, yanking the shed door open and stopping in surprise.

Darin and Grady followed so close on his heels that the three collided like a Stooges episode.

"What the fuck?" Wade yelled, taking in the kid stretched out in the corner. The kid was lying on his side, facing away from the door, but suddenly Wade knew it must be the missing boy for whom people were combing his father's property.

Darin sucked in a breath. "Holy hell," He breathed. "You know who that is?" He'd recognized the kid instantly from his longish hair and bony frame.

Wade frowned, "Who?"

"It's Winchester's brat of a brother."

Wade frowned, "What? How do you know?"

"It is. Look at him."

Wade moved forward until he was looking straight down at the kid. Darin was right. It was the Winchester brat. Kid looked a wreck too - didn't even have shoes on his feet. He lay shivering across two bales of peat moss, sound asleep.

Grady joined him, "What the hell, man?" he asked, looking down. "Kid looks like he's on his last legs."

Wade shook his head. "Well this is just fucking great. Of all the fucking lost kids in the world, it had to be fucking Goody Winchester Two Shoes. How the hell did he get here?"

"Looks like he walked." Darin noted the bottoms of the kid's bloodied feet.

Grady sounded nervous. "He's gonna rat us out, man. You know he will."

Darin shook his head, "Nah, man. Dean's cool. The kid's probably cooler than we think."

But Wade snorted. "Those two are like day and night. Sure Winchester's cool, but this little schmuck ain't. Grady's right. We're up shit creek now." He glared over at Darin who was pulling out his phone. "What are you doing?"

Darin frowned, "Calling Dean to come get him."

But Wade put his hand out. "Hold off, man. Just … just wait a minute. Let me think. Okay?"

"What? Why?"

Wade shook his head. "Man, I hate this little fucker. Kid's always nailing me with those smart-assed one-liners. I don't even know what he's sayin' half the time, but I know it's an insult."

Darin stared, "So what? The kid's 12, Wade."

"I don't give a shit. I still hate him. And it's my property he's trespassin' on. We should teach the little creep a lesson." Wade's eyes lit up then, "Or better yet, let big bro do it."

Darin gave him a disbelieving look. "You're crazy, man. Dean ain't gonna hit the kid. He likes the little shit."

"Maybe." Wade grinned evilly, "but we could persuade him. He could make the little asshole keep his lips zipped." He moved to the odd-looking plant growing in the corner and stared down at it. It was the only one of its kind in the shed. He made his decision. Turning to Darin, he gestured to the phone. "Go ahead. Call him. Just make sure he takes his time getting here. Send him to my house. We need time to get all this shit out of here before some village idiot stumbles on it."


	9. Smoked

Darin stood looking down. "Hey, kid. Wake up." He jostled Sam, but the boy was out cold.

"Kid, uh … Stan … hey. Wake up."

Sam's eyes opened slowly. He tried to sit up, masking a groan. "Wha…? What's … Dean?" he asked sleepily.

"Nah, big bro ain't here yet, Stan. But he's on his way, okay?"

Sam blinked. He looked surprised to see his brother's friend standing over him.

"What?" The kid didn't seem like he could quite get his thoughts together.

"You gotta come with me. Come on. It's cold as balls out here. We gotta get you warmed up, and your feet are a mess. What the hell happened?"

Sam gradually took in his surroundings. "There were plants before." he said, confused. "What happened to the plants?" He scrubbed his eyes with his fists.

"Toldja." Grady's voice cut in, snide. "Little shit's gonna tell."

The kid suddenly looked terrified. "I won't. I just wanted to get out of the storm."

Darin looked down at the kid with pity. "Well, come on. Let's get you warmed up, then we'll talk, okay? Dean's on his way. Can you even walk?"

"Hunh? Yeah, I can … I can walk." Sam tried to stand, but he looked like he had no feeling at all in his feet. He fell awkwardly back down onto the peat moss.

Grady snorted from the back, but Darin frowned. "Yeah you can. Here, kid. Let me help you, okay?" He reached down and lifted Sam, grasping the boy under his knees and behind his back. He pulled him to his chest and made his way outside to where Wade waited.

"What the hell you doin', man?" Wade exploded. "Make the little shit walk."

"He can't walk." Darin explained. "He tried."

Wade marched up and got in Sam's face. "Tough shit. We sure as hell ain't carrying the little creep around like a princess." He grabbed Sam's arm and yanked, and the kid yelped helplessly as he fell forward and hit the ground at Darin's feet.

"Shit, Wade! What the hell you do that for?" Darin yelled, pissed. He crouched down and placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's okay, Stan. Wade's just an asshole."

"It's S-sam." Sam stuttered, trying to talk over the pain in his feet. "Just, give me a minute and I'll go, okay? I won't tell anyone I was here."

"Sam. That's right, cause Dean calls you Sammy, and you hate it, yeah?" Darin smiled, then sobered. "I think you got frostbite, Sam. I don't think you're going anywhere without help."

Then Wade was crouched down beside them both and grinning evilly into Sam's face. "Yeah, SAMMY. You ain't goin' nowhere unless we help you. So how about a little gratitude, you ungrateful little shit?" And he reared back and clocked Sam across the face.

Sam gasped as the slap jarred him from his head to his aching toes. Tears ran unbidden down his face as he glared up at Wade. "Dean's gonna kick your ass, Wade."

Wade smirked. "No he ain't cause you ain't gonna remember any of this to tell him, asshole." Wade stood and gestured to Grady. "Grab his arm."

With Wade on one side and Grady on the other, they lifted Sam to his feet. He tried to stifle the groan of pain that shot up his legs as the two dragged him to the waiting truck. Wade was especially hateful and went out of his way to drag Sam's damaged feet over every rock and mowed corn stalk that littered the way. At the tailgate, they lifted Sam unceremoniously and tossed him into the truck bed like a bag of discarded trash, and Sam couldn't muffle the scream of pain that was wrenched from him as his already battered body made hard contact with the frozen metal of the truck.

Darin felt a little sick as he climbed up over the tailgate and settled himself beside the kid. He pulled off his own coat and draped it over Sam, then he pulled the kid's head into his lap to make the ride back to Wade's house more bearable. Knowing Wade, Darin was sure the ride back through the cornfield was going to be as rough as possible.

###

Sam was in agony. Every muscle, every bone in his body hurt from the ride back to Wade's house. Wade apparently couldn't drive. Either that or he was deliberately trying to throw Sam and Darin from the truck. Even with the older boy bracing them with arms and legs, they were both tossed from one side of the bed to the other. Once they'd stopped, Darin had jumped from the truck, yanked Wade from behind the wheel and downed him with a fist to his ugly face. Sam was fading in and out by that time, but when someone jumped back up into the bed with him, he had the presence of mind to flinch. He was relieved to see it was Darin.

"Come on, Sam. Time to get you some painkillers and get you fixed up. Dean should be here soon. Just hang on until then, okay? You know big bro will take care of Wade."

Sam studied Darin with watery eyes. "He's really coming? You're sure?"

Darin smiled. "Called him myself, Sam. I promise. He's on the way."

Sam sighed. "Okay." He allowed his eyes to close for just a moment.

Darin hiked the boy up into his arms and strode purposefully toward the front porch, but Wade stopped him. "Not in the house, you dick. Take him to the garage." Wade's voice sounded wounded, and secretly, Sam rejoiced.

Darin stopped, "The garage? What the hell, Wade? You got heat in there?"

"Got enough. Come on." Wade led the way into the tiny garage that was barely big enough to fit one subcompact. "Mom's gone for the day. It's just us." He tossed a gym mat onto the floor and nodded toward it. "Put him down there." He moved to the workbench and back. "Here." He said,

Handing Grady and Darin each a mask.

"What's this?" Darin frowned. It looked like the masks doctors wore in the hospital.

"Dad uses them to avoid breathing in pollen and stuff when he mows the grass." Wade explained. "They're filters." He pulled his own into place and gestured to Grady. "Hold him."

Darin took a step toward Sam. "What are you doing?"

Wade rolled his eyes. "The kid's in pain, right? Well, only thing I got to help him is herbs, man. Mom don't keep pills in the house." Wade stepped back to the workbench and came away with a lighter and a stalk from the odd plant out.

"I haven't tried this stuff yet, but it's supposed to make you feel pretty good." He explained, stooping down in front of Sam and holding the lit flame beneath a single green leaf. "Plays hell with your short-term memory too. At least, I hope."

Sam tried to edge backward, eyes huge, but Wade nodded to Grady, and the boy grasped Sam firmly by the shoulders and held him in place.

"Nuh … don't!" Sam begged, trying to scuffle backward.

Wade snorted, holding the smoking weed right under Sam's nose. "Breathe there, Sammy. Breathe nice and deep for me now."

"Wade!" Darin reached for the lighter. "Knock it off. The kid's 12!"

But Wade reached out with a booted foot and kicked his friend painfully in the thigh. Darin went down hard, writhing in pain. He wanted to help Winchester's kid brother, but Wade had kicked him too high, and all Darin could do was hold his parts and roll around on the floor in agony. He watched through streaming eyes as Wade and Grady forced Sam to inhale the smoke from the noxious weed.


	10. Owning Up

Dean loped up the steps and pounded on the door, his heart racing like the Impala on a long stretch of open road on a sunny afternoon. Not waiting for an answer, he twisted the knob and exploded into Wade's living room, surprising the kid who was just reaching for the door.

"Shit, Dean!" Wade jumped in surprise.

But Dean had no time for niceties. "Where is he?" He barked, glancing around. His eyes fell on Sam, seated in an overstuffed chair by a roaring fire. The kid had a blanket over his lap and a cup of something steamy on the table next to him. Grady stood behind him, and for a moment, Dean had the impression that the older boy had been … arranging ... his brother.

Dean strode over, poised to give Sam a raft of shit for not contacting him earlier, when he noticed Sam's vacant stare. Dean frowned, kneeling down.

"Sammy?" He snapped his fingers. "Hey, Sam? You in there?"

Sam's watery eyes followed the movement of Dean's fingers. Then he blinked once and focused on his brother's face. He smiled blankly, mouth falling open.

Dean swallowed hard. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He stared up at Wade. "What the hell's wrong with him?"

Wade looked nervous. "Uh, I wanted to tell you before you saw him, actually. He, uh, he got in my stash."

Dean looked murderous as he raised back up on his feet. "You light up around my little brother, Wade? Cause I told you what would happen if you ever lit up your shit around Sam."

Wade took a step back, hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, the kid did it to himself. I just found him out in my garage this morning, sacked out on my mom's yoga mats and high as a kite. Don't shoot the messenger, man. We just wanted to make sure you knew the kid was okay."

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to comprehend Wade's bullshit story. "So you're telling me Sam broke into your garage and smoked your shit, and you just found him there."

Wade nodded desperately. "That's what I'm telling you."

Dean looked to Grady, who nodded silently.

"Darin called me. Where is he?" Dean wanted a second opinion.

"Gone."

Dean glared at each boy in turn, knowing a bullshit story when he heard one, but having no way to prove it. He refocused his energies on his brother.

"Sammy? Hey Sammy? Can you hear me, dude?" Dean knelt down and took Sam's hands. His face contorted.

"His hands are like ice. Why's he so cold?"

Wade shrugged.

Dean's eyes ran up and down his little brother's form. He gently pulled the blanket off Sam's legs and stared. His brother's feet were practically in shreds. They were a strange color too, and Dean's heart sank as he thought he recognized the first stages of frostbite. He touched Sam's toes gently, drawing back when the boy whimpered.

"Fuck!" Dean exploded. "You couldn't call a doctor or pick the shit out of his feet or anything?" Dean began gently pulling thorns and bits of debris out of the soles of his brother's feet. "I need a basin of warm water." He instructed. When nobody moved, he stood up to his full height. "NOW! Dammit!"

Wade shot him a hate-filled look, but strode off toward the kitchen anyway.

Dean's voice was a little shaky when he ran his hand through his brother's unruly strands and cupped his chin in both hands. Leaning down and peering right into his eyes, he spoke gently, "Sammy, it's okay, man. I'm here. I'm gonna take the pain away, okay little brother? Sammy? Can you hear me?"

Sam stared, a string of drool winding it's way down his chin. Dean thumbed it away. "Sammy?"

Sam answered with a single word.

Dean thought he'd heard wrong. "What was that, Sam? One more time, okay? Can you say that again for me?"

Sam repeated the word, and Dean's face grew hard. He shot a glance at the two boys who stood in the kitchen, backs to him.

Help. Sam had asked for help.

###

Dean stood on the porch, Sam safely belted into the front passenger seat of the stolen car. Dean had the engine running and all the vents pointed toward the kid's feet.

He glared at Wade and Grady. "If I ever find out something went on here with my brother, if I ever find out you laid even a single finger on him, I'll be back. You hear me?"

The two boys shifted nervously, and Wade spoke up, "That's a nice thank you, Winchester. We find your kid, take him in, call you, and this is the thanks we get? You still owe me a nickel for my shit the little runt smoked."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "When I hear from Sam that he stole your weed, that's when I'll give you $50. Til then, it ain't happening. You think I don't know a raft of shit when I hear it?"

"You callin' us liars?" Grady frowned.

Dean smiled, "I'll let you know. Sam's gonna start talking soon. And when he does, you better pray his story matches the bullshit you two just tried to feed me." Dean turned and hurried down the steps, stepping behind the driver's seat and pulling away. He gazed over at Sam who stared out the window unseeingly.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Just hang in there, little dude."

Sam rolled his head toward the sound of Dean's voice and aimed soulful eyes in his big brother's direction. He blinked, and a single tear rolled down one cheek.

Dean's lips formed a thin line. "I promise you Sammy, if those bastards so much as looked at you funny, I'll take care of it. You have my word on that."

Dean glared back at the house in his rear view. This was all his fault.

###

Come on, Sammy. I got us a nice, warm room with a big tub. We even have cable, dude." Dean knelt at the passenger side of the Toyota and lifted Sam up and out. He carried him the three steps to the motel room door that was already open and waiting, and sank him down on the bed.

"I could-could have walked, Dean." Sam breathed as the older boy's eyes widened. He stepped back, grinning.

"It speaks!" He feigned surprise.

Sam looked up at him in confusion, "What's going on? What happened?"

"I was just about to ask you those same two questions, geek boy. What the hell, Sam?"

"What?"

"You. Stealing weed. Smokin' it. Gettin' high. Any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam's eyes widened. "How … what?"

"What do ya got to say for yourself, Sammy?" Dean asked, as he carried in the few belongings they still owned.

Sam looked up, pleading. "Dean! I didn't! I wouldn't!"

"Calm down, you little bitch. I believe you."

"You do?"

Dean nodded. "Ain't heard such a bullshit story since that time Bobby told us about his run in with the coven of naked witches down in Houston. I didn't buy that one. I sure as hell ain't buying you breaking into someone's garage and smokin' yourself senseless."

"Who said that!" Sam was incensed.

Dean studied his brother, wanting some sort of reaction at his next words. "Wade. It was his garage."

Sam's face paled instantly, and suddenly, the kid looked as though he would pass out right there. "I don't feel so good." He said, and tried to scoot down on the bed to lie down. But that was the moment Sam discovered his feet had been replaced by two pools of molten lava, and he cried out despite himself.

Dean was on him in a heartbeat. "Hey, hey, come on now. Breathe through it. I know it hurts, but I couldn't give you the good painkillers until you told me what you smoked."

Sam's eyes streamed as he pleaded with Dean. "I didn't smoke anything, Dean. I swear. I wouldn't!"

Dean paused, "Sam, you were definitely high. Trust me on this, okay? If you didn't smoke it, how'd you get it?"

"I don't know!" Sam moaned miserably. "Please, Dean? Please? I need something. My feet hurt so bad!"

Dean stared, perplexed. If he didn't know better, he'd be sure Sam was lying to him. "Sure, Sammy. Hold on. I got some stuff right here." He popped the top on a small glass bottle and shook out a single pill.

Sam took it without looking, downing it with a single swig from the water bottle Dean gave him. "Where'd you get it? You didn't go back to the house did you?"

Dean sat back. "You remember the house?"

"Yeah, the cops found it. I had to run out the back. Lost my shoes." Sam answered mournfully. He sat carefully back against the headboard and glanced down at his feet. 'I couldn't call you, Dean. I … my phone and stuff. It's all still there … the knife you gave me."

Sam sounded heartbroken at the loss of knife, which made Dean's eyes water.

"I got your knife, Sam. And your phone and your shoes and your coat. They're out in the car."

Sam nodded, relieved. "How'd you get back in?"

"I didn't. Got nabbed."

Sam's eyes shot open. "What?"

"I wasn't paying attention. Walked right into it."

Sam stared, the waterworks starting up again, "Dean! I'm sorry! I should have found some way to warn you!"

But Dean was stuck on the details. "Sam, tell me how it is that you remember the house but not how you got high?"

Sam looked away, guilt, or what Dean thought looked like guilt, written all over his face. "I don't know. I can't explain it, all right?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean busied himself washing Sam's feet in warm water and antiseptic.

Sam tried not to flinch, "I … the woods, I think. I remember walking off into the woods, wishing I had my shoes on."

"So no recollection of the garage or of Wade or Grady finding you?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't, Dean. I swear."

Dean nodded, silent.

"You believe me, right?"

Dean shrugged. "I want to, Sam."

"But I don't remember. Honest! I'd tell you if I … if I did."

Dean didn't meet his brother's eyes as he worked. "I think you're okay. I thought you had frostbite here, but I think you dodged the bullet. Color's back. Just gonna rub some antibiotic cream all over them, okay?"

Sam nodded, desperate to know whether Dean believed him. "Dean?"

"Just … let me think, Sam. Okay? I just need time to think."

"Oh, okay."

Dean wordlessly applied the cream while Sam watched him.

"You need clean, white socks for those. Gotta make a supply run. You be okay here by yourself for an hour? I saw a supercenter a few miles back."

Sam nodded, 'Yeah, Dean. I'll be okay."

Dean finally looked up, meeting his brother's eyes. "How's the pain? Better? Think you can sleep for a bit now?"

Sam nodded, the fear of rejection shining bright in his eyes, and Dean relented. "Listen, Sam. It ain't the end of the world, okay? Whatever you did, if you did it. You know you can tell me."

Sam shook his head. "But that's just it. I don't know if I did it, Dean. I c-can't remember. I'm trying."

"Do you think you might have done it?"

Sam had a memory he didn't want to share, but when Dean pressed him, he caved. "I don't know. Maybe? I remember all these plants."

"Plants?"

"Yeah. They were all around me or something. But I don't know if it was a dream or if it actually happened. Did you see anything like that … you know … at Wade's house?" Sam had to struggle to say the boy's name, and he didn't understand why.

Dean shook his head.

"I just remember feeling … feeling … relieved? I guess. When I saw the plants? I don't know why though."

Dean blinked. "You ever smoke before, Sammy? Be honest."

Sam shook his head vehemently. "I haven't, Dean, I swear."

Dean nodded. "Okay then."

"Okay, as in you believe me?"

Dean thought for a moment before answering. "Okay as in I believe you don't know for sure what happened."

Sam mulled that over. "Well, I guess that means you believe me then."

"Sam?"

"Hunh?"

"You know I … I gotta tell Dad, right?"

Sam's eyes went huge and all the color washed out of his face. "Dean don't! Please!"

But Dean shook his head. "I got to Sammy. This is too big."

Sam was near tears. "Dean please! You know what he'll do."

Dean sat gazing at his brother. He did. "Yeah, he'll punish you."

Sam shook his head. "He'll be disappointed in me, Dean. Again! I'm always such a disappointment to Dad!"

"Sam, that's not true."

"It IS true, Dean. If he thinks I … thinks I got high … thinks I broke into someone's house to get high without their permission, Dean! He'll freak."

"Shoulda thought about that before, Sammy."

"But, I don't even know for sure that I did it! And he won't listen to reason, Dean! You know he won't! It'll be all 'I'm so disappointed in you, Sam.' and 'Why can't you be more like your brother, Sam?'"

Dean shook his head. "That's not true."

"Just please! Don't tell him just yet. Give me a day or two. Maybe it'll come back to me, okay?"

Dean stood up, having had enough of the conversation. He was certain Sam was lying. There was just too much evidence to the contrary. That didn't mean he didn't blame himself though. And Dean couldn't say he didn't feel like the world's biggest hypocrite for giving Sam crap for doing the exact same shit he'd been doing for weeks.

"Just … sit tight, Sam. Here." He reached for the crutches he'd lifted from the same clinic where he'd snagged the painkillers. "Got you these if you need to get to the bathroom or anything, okay? Just try to keep pressure off those feet, and try to keep 'em off this crusty carpet til I get you some socks, okay?"

Sam nodded miserably, realizing that Dean hadn't promised him anything.

Dean stared down at him and sighed. "It really will be okay, Sammy. Stop worryin'." He said, as he pulled on his jacket and headed for the door.

But once he was outside, an overwhelming wave of something that felt a lot like depression washed over him. Sam was in for a shitload of trouble, and Dean was the one about to bring it down upon him.


	11. Punished

"We shouldna' done that." Grady worried, biting at his thumbnail.

But Wade wasn't swayed. He took a sip of his father's beer and pasted a shit-eating grin on his face. "Yeah we should. How damned good did that feel?"

Grady shook his head. "It's gonna come back to him, man. I'm telling you. Dean's gonna see the bruises all over the kid."

Wade shrugged. "So what? He's got no proof it was us that beat him. Kid don't remember shit."

"Dean's not the idiot you think he is." Darin added, still sick from watching his two friends wail on a 12-year-old. "What the hell did you get out of that, anyway?"

Wade smiled. "Got satisfaction is what. Felt good to watch that little fucker scream when my boots met his ribs. Wasn't so high and mighty when he left here, was he?"

Darin glowered darkly, "You didn't have to hurt him. There's something seriously the fuck wrong with you, Wade. If we hadn't pulled you off him, you mighta killed the kid. A kid, Wade! A fuckin' 12-year-old kid!"

Wade sat back in his father's chair and propped bloodied boots on his father's desk. "Served the little asshole right. Fucker had it coming."

###

Sam sat on the bed and willed himself not to cry. His emotions were all messed up. One minute he felt like he was going to be okay, and the next, all he wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die. He didn't really think he did those things that Dean had accused him of. Sam had never wanted to smoke - hated the way it made Dean smell and act.

No way in hell he'd wanna do that to himself. But he really couldn't remember what happened. He wasn't lying, and it pissed him off that Dean seemed to think he was.

Dean should know better.

And the pain that radiated through his body - no way he got that way just from walking in the woods. Dean hadn't checked him over or he'd have seen the bruises. Sam couldn't get a very good glimpse of them himself, but he was sure he must be black and blue all over. A shower would be amazing right now, but Sam wasn't sure he had enough energy to stand for that long a period of time.

He would like to see the bruises though.

With a sigh, Sam sat up and put his legs carefully over the edge of the bed, reaching for the crutches, he struggled to raise himself to a standing position.

It felt like a thousand wendigos were dancing the merengue on his back, but he ignored the pain and began a slow shuffle to the bathroom. Once there, he sat down on the toilet and began shedding the damp sweats that he'd apparently been wearing for days. He noted a faint trace of herbs as he pulled the shirt over his head and tried not to vomit.

Rolling his feet to the sides and standing on the edges, he could stand and examine himself in the mirror. His eyes widened as he took in what could have only been a boot print covering one entire half of his ribs. Sam gasped in shock as he turned slightly and saw the black and green and blue bruising that covered his whole torso.

He'd been beaten; there was no other possibility. He'd been beaten, almost to a pulp, and he had no recollection of it at all. He hissed a little in pain as he ran the water warm and stepped carefully into the shower, taking his crutches with him.

It wasn't until the water was running full blast and Sam was certain no one would hear him that he gave into his emotions and let the sobs burst forth.

###

Dean unlocked the door and carried in the first load of bags. Frowning when he found Sam missing, he quickly moved to the bathroom door and raised his fist to knock, but the sound of quiet crying stopped him. He could tell the kid was in the shower and working through his emotions. Dean lowered his hand and backed away, swallowing hard.

He brought in the rest of the bags - two more loads - and began unpacking them, separating things into different piles. Into Sam's pile he tossed bags of socks and underwear, jeans. Sweats, lounge pants and tee shirts. The same items went into his own pile. Then he unbagged the first aid supplies and groceries, tucking everything away in a corner on the countertop. He tossed lunch meats and cheeses, beer and milk into the mini fridge, and lastly, he tossed a new paperback onto Sam's pile. He then set about making sandwiches as he waited for Sam to venture forth.

He started when the bathroom door cracked open and a wall of steam rolled forth.

"Uh, hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"You got any clothes I could borrow, maybe? These are kinda wet still."

"Got ya covered, Sammy." he answered, tossing in the underwear, lounge pants and a tee shirt.

Sam's voice was surprised, "Thanks, Dean."

"Don't mention it, princess."

Sam snorted at that, disappearing back into the steam and closing the door behind him. Dean smiled, placing four ham and turkey clubs onto two paper plates and pouring two tall glasses of milk. He carried the food to the small table that sat next to the beds and situated it so he could use the room heater as a makeshift seat, leaving the only real chair in the room for Sam.

When Sam emerged, he took in the sandwiches and the milk and the chair that Dean had left vacant for him, and he smiled, feeling like maybe he mattered after all. Moving to the bed, he picked up the paperback and read the cover.

"What's this?"

Dean shrugged, "Lookedth likth thomething you'd likth." He explained, his mouth full of bread and meat.

"Gross, Dean." Sam said, but he was secretly delighted. He was going to show Dean the bruises just as soon as they ate, he decided. He'd been toying with the notion of keeping silent, but Dean really did care, Sam could see that now. He sat gingerly down in the chair and picked up his sandwich.

"So I called Dad." Dean dropped the bomb without preamble, and suddenly Sam felt his appetite wane.

Sam set his sandwich back on his plate, hands shaking, and stared at the table top. He knew what was coming.

Dean studied his brother. Man, he hated this. Sam had given him no choice though. "Sammy."

"I heard you, Dean. You don't have to explain. I know what he said."

Dean paused, reaching for words. "He's just worried about you, you know."

Sam snorted.

Dean frowned, "He really is. He doesn't want you to turn into a thug."

Sam looked up then, the humor in that not passing him by. "A thug. Yeah. Cause I'm such a threat to everyone I meet."

Dean took a bite of sandwich, trying to buy himself some time.

But Sam nailed him with the beagle eyes. "I don't understand why you don't believe me. I don't lie. Dean. Have I ever lied to you before? What'd you tell him?"

Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Told him what you told me. You don't remember."

Sam shook his head. "I can guess how that went over."

"Probably. He gave me two choices, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, trying not to cry. He dreaded Dean's next words.

"He said he could stop what he was doing and leave Caleb in the lurch, drive two days back here and dole out your punishment himself …"

Sam tried to shrink himself small.

"Or he could let me take over for him. Said he'd trust me to do what's right."

Sam looked up then, sensing a light at the end of his tunnel. "He's gonna let you punish me?" He asked, inordinately relieved.

"Well, in a way."

"What way?"

"Twelve lashes with the belt, Sammy. One for every year. I have to send him a video of me doing it or he'll head straight back here."

Sam stared, thinking about the feel of Dean's heavy leather belt across his already aching body, and he turned suddenly and vomited into the trash can.

Dean's eyes went huge. "Holy shit, Sam. You okay, man?" He moved to help, but Sam pushed him violently away, sobbing.

"Why'd you tell him, Dean? Why? You didn't have to tell him. He'd never have known!" Sam struggled to rise to his feet, but they betrayed him and he ended up sort of flailing helplessly then falling onto the bed. His face turned beet red.

Dean looked away. "Sammy …" he said miserably, hating himself, hating Dad, hating everything about this damned day. He was feeling more and more pissed by the minute.

"I don't think I can take it, Dean. I … I hurt … I …" Sam was about to show his brother the boot mark he'd found on his ribs, but Dean's next words changed his mind.

"Well, you shoulda thought of that sooner, Sam. Cause now it's all on me. You think I like this? You think I wanna beat you with a belt? Well, I don't Sam! You're a selfish little bastard, you know that?"

That stopped Sam in his tracks, and he looked up at Dean with such a look of betrayal that the older boy wanted to sink into the floorboards of the decrepit motel and just slink away somewhere like the pile of slime he was.

"Yeah. Selfish bastard. Got it." Sam said, after a moment, his voice monotone. He swallowed. "When?"

Dean shrugged, not trusting his voice.

"Well, guess there's no time like the present, right?" Sam offered. He pulled himself up using the corner of the table and loosened the ties on his lounge pants, dropping them just low enough to reveal most of his boxers. Any lower, and Dean would see the bruises that covered the fronts and backs of both legs. "Get your camera ready."

Dean stood there, trying to think of a single reason not to go through with this, but he had nothing. If Sam wanted to get it over with, so be it. He'd oblige him. He picked up his phone and turned on the camera, propping it on the coffee pot to capture the whole side of the room.

"Fine." He said, unbuckling his belt and whooshing it through the loops. "You know I gotta do this for real, right? Dad thinks I'm going easy on you, he's just come back and do it all over again."

"Just do it." Sam said, his voice resigned. And Dean's heart broke a little at the tone. He didn't let that stop him, though.

"Hang on, Sammy." He cautioned. "And count 'em down or else."

Sam nodded, gritting his teeth. He leaned over the small, rickety table and prayed it would be enough to keep him vertical during his punishment. He could tell by Dean's voice that the older boy was pissed. He wouldn't pull any punches. He tried to send his mind anywhere else but where he was as he heard the first crack of the leather and felt the fire rain down.


	12. Regrettable Actions

Sam could hear Dean's voice, could tell he was talking to him, but the words were muddled. Sam felt like he was listening through water - his brother's words echoing in ever-increasing circles around him.

He had no idea what Dean was saying, but the older boy looked concerned.

His punishment must be over.

Sam tried to lift one hand off the table to pull up his pants, but when he did, his upper body collapsed on top of it. Sam lay panting, his face buried in his arms, snot running from his nose. He usually tried not to cry during his punishments, but this time he hadn't been able to stop the flow of tears. To Dean's credit, Sam cried silently, and his brother didn't see the depth of his devastation until the twelve lashes were over.

And Sam was right. Dean hadn't pulled a single one.

His body had passed the point of feeling like it was on fire about five lashes in. After that, the agony was mind-numbing.

He felt Dean's hand in his hair as his battered body finally collapsed altogether, falling in a heap on the floor at the foot of the table. Sam lay covered in meat slices and cheese, a chilled stream of milk spilling off the table and running down his neck, soaking his clean tee.

He opened his eyes to find Dean's frantic face next to his own. Dean's mouth was working, but Sam couldn't hear the words the older boy uttered.

All he could hear was his own pain. His ass was on fire. His feet … his sides felt like someone had driven a spear straight through, and his chest where Sam swore he felt the outline of the boot print … it was filled with dust. Sam needed to cough, but he couldn't muster up the energy. Instead, his failing body gave out a horrifying bark that even startled his brother. Sam could tell this by the way Dean's mouth fell open.

Another time, he would have laughed at his big brother's speechlessness. Another time. Not this time.

Dean was shaking him gently, which just intensified the pain. Sam's head rolled limply to one side and he uttered the only word that his mind could form.

"Please …"

Please what, Sam had no idea. Please make the pain stop, maybe? Please believe me when I tell you I can't remember? Please keep me safe from your maniacal friends? Please let this whole month be nothing more than a nightmare?

Please don't hit me anymore.

Sam struggled to raise himself up onto his knees, shoving his brother away. He climbed gracelessly onto the bed, losing his lounge pants in the process, and his shirt must have ridden up too because finally Sam could hear again, and what he heard was his brother's sharp intake of breath. Sam decided it must have something to do with his bruises, but honestly, he didn't care anymore.

Sam just wanted to die. He curled up on the bed and faced away from his brother, taking the short little breaths that were all his mangled body would allow him.

He closed his eyes and fell into the waiting chasm.

###

"Twelve." Dean counted off the last lash because Sam didn't seem willing to do it. If he was Dad, he'd give Sammy an extra crack just for insubordination, but Dean couldn't do that. Hell, it was all he could do to make it this far. He'd wanted nothing more than to go easy on his little brother, but he knew if he tried, Dad would just make Sam go through the whole punishment over again once he got home.

It was better this way.

Dean took a step back, looking at the floor. "That's all, Sammy. We're done." He said, turning and reaching for the phone. He shut off the hateful camera and threw the phone across the room. He'd expected Sam to turn and flee to the bathroom where his dignity could suffer without a witness, but he was surprised to find Sam still standing exactly where he'd left him.

The kid looked like he was bolted to the table. Dean took a step around to say something to him and froze at the look on the younger boy's face.

Sam looked devastated. His face was soaked in tears so heavy that they clung to his lashes and ran in rivers down his cheeks. The table in front of him was puddled with them, and Dean had never felt lower in his life. Sam's face broke him instantly. Whether it was the tears or the vacant stare that didn't seem to recognize him, Dean wasn't sure. The only thing he was certain of, in that moment, was that his little brother was hurting beyond his ability to bear it, and that Dean was the one who'd caused the pain.

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, his hand going unbidden to his brother's face.

Sam lifted one shaking hand then and tried to tug on his pants, but suddenly he collapsed on top the table, causing the leg to break and the whole thing to tumble to the ground, taking Sam with it.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, falling down after his brother. He buried a hand in Sam's hair and slipped an arm beneath him. "Sammy. Come on, man. Say something."

And when his brother's plea was broken and pleading, Dean was sorry he'd asked.

"Please …" Sam said, his eyes closing. He struggled onto his knees and pushed Dean away, trying to climb onto the bed. And as he went, his lounge pants puddled down around his feet. Dean was left looking at trauma unlike any he'd ever seen.

Even in all their hunts, all their run-ins with evil, vile creatures, Dean had never seen bruises like the ones that covered Sam's legs, front and back. And then Sam flopped over onto his side to face the wall, and his tee shirt rode up, and Dean felt all the air leave his body in a whoosh.

His little brother's body had been beaten far beyond what most people could ever withstand.


	13. Drowning in It

Sam smiled as he approached the ranch house. The first thing he noticed was the neatly cut grass and the landscaping. Somebody cared about this house. The walkway leading to the door was lined with colorful flowers, and boxes bolted under the windows held neatly trailing vines.

Sam had a backpack on his shoulder, and when he looked down, he saw expensive running shoes on his feet. He wondered at that, but then he was twisting the knob on the door and entering the house that smelled like warm cinnamon.

It was a modest house, but neat. The walls were clean and simply decorated, and the floors polished and shining. A friendly dog ran up to Sam and begged for scratches.

Sam smiled, kneeling down, and roughed up the little dog. He looked up grinning when Dean stepped into the room carrying a stack of books.

Sam's brow wrinkled, "What are the books for Dean?" He asked, curious.

And Dean smiled. "Enrolled in college today, Sammy. Gonna get my degree. How about that, hunh? Your big brother's a college man.

And the warmth that spread through Sam from his head to his toes was all-encompassing. He couldn't stop grinning as he stood up and took the books from his brother and read the titles: _The Wendigo Trials, Vetala: Habits and Habitats_ , and finally - _The Good Son: A Study in Brotherly Dynamics._

Sam frowned, looking back at his brother. "What kind of degree, Dean?"

But Dean just shrugged, "Doesn't matter. Dad's letting me go, Sam. How about that?"

And Sam was happy for his brother. "So, no more hunting?"

Dean grinned, relieved, "No more hunting, little bro. From now on, life is normal. Nice house, hunh?"

Sam nodded. "Are we staying long?"

But then John entered the room, followed by a cloud of something that smelled suspiciously like spaghetti. He smiled down at Sam and nodded. "Forever, son. This is how we live now."

And Sam stood still as the light from the afternoon sun shone down through the skylight in the ceiling and warmed his face. He tried to take in everything he was feeling as Dean placed his books on the phone stand and linked his arm through Sam's.

"Come on, Sammy. Wait til you see your room." He tugged Sam forward, up the stairs and away.

But suddenly, the stairs were old, and there were nails sticking up, and they punctured Sam's shoes and made his feet hurt. He tried to tell Dean to hold on a minute, that nails were in his shoes, but the older boy was too excited. He continued to tug on Sam and to pull him up the dangerous steps.

"Come on, Sammy! Just one more!" Dean smiled down at him. "Please, Sammy? For me?"

And Sam opened his mouth to scream as nails drove into both feet, but suddenly there was water in his mouth and dribbling down his chin, and he was choking.

Dean's voice, "That's it, Sammy. Good job. Drink it all down, okay?"

Sam struggled at the change in Dean's voice. It had gone from lighthearted and unburdened to carrying the weight of the world. And as the dream slipped away, Sam came back into himself. The warm cinnamon scent was replaced by the moldy smell of old motel, and the sunlight faded to become the incandescent fixture over the bed.

And the disappointment felt like grief to Sam. He pushed away from his brother and rolled painfully onto his side, sobbing quietly for the life he so desperately wanted and would never have.

###

The second time Sam awoke, it was his father's face he saw wavering before him. John looked worried, and his mouth moved, but Sam couldn't make out the words. He sipped from the water bottle that John offered, but the cold water, when it rolled down his throat to his chest, felt like a blow. It took his breath away and made him cough. And the cough felt like knives in his ribs. Sam heard himself whimper before his father, and humiliation enfolded him like a blanket. He saw Dean's worried face appear behind his father's shoulder, lips moving, yet unable to pierce the silence.

Sam stared at his lips, trying to make out the words, but eventually Dean stopped his pantomime and just stared at his brother, reaching out to run a hand through Sam's hair. It hurt, and Sam flinched. As Dean drew his hand away, Sam's eyes fell again to his mouth, prepared to read his lips.

But all he saw there was anguish. Dean, uncharacteristically, had nothing to say.

Sam sighed and let his body collapse under him as his father's gentle arms arranged the blankets around him. Sam was warm, but he was sad too. And those were his last thoughts as he drifted away a second time, hot tears staining his cheeks as he fell.

###

Dean lay next to his brother on the bed, watching him cry in his sleep. It had been days since Sam had been coherent, days since Dean had doled out Dad's punishment.

Dad was here now, but that didn't make it any better, and secretly, Dean wished he had never called him. Wished he hadn't ratted his little brother out, wished Dad had stayed gone.

He wasn't helping.

Dean wanted to take Sam into a hospital, but John took one look at the marks all over his youngest and vetoed that idea with a vengeance. Time for his body to heal was all Sam needed. Time and then understanding, and that's what hurt Dean worst of all because where was John's understanding when Dean had explained that the kid didn't remember what happened?

"Beat him with the belt," John had said. "Boy has to learn a lesson." So Dean had. He'd taken his own heavy belt to the kid, against his better judgment - and he'd been heavy-handed about it too - only to learn that Sammy had already been hurt grievously.

It was too late by then though.

He reached over and ran a shaking hand through his brother's hair, "Forgive me, Sammy. I'm so sorry, kid." He whispered in Sam's ear. "I'm so so sorry."

###

Sam started awake, his heart racing. The blue neon of the motel sign painted the wall next to his bed a ghostly shade of gray. He lay still, listening for a moment, but hearing nothing. Then he felt a twinge, an urgent need, and realized it was his bladder that had wakened him. He sat up, the simple movement taking his breath away, and struggled to gain his equilibrium. Dean was asleep beside him, which meant climbing over the older boy to get to the bathroom, and Sam's heart sank. He didn't think he had it in him even to try. He began scooting toward the foot of the bed instead, but his movements woke John in the other bed, and the older man was on him in an instant.

"Sam? Son, you awake?"

Sam nodded, "Gotta go, Dad. Dean's in my way."

But instead of John waking the older boy and asking him to move like Sam expected, John simply let Sam continue his awkward sideways scuffle until he could put his feet over the end of the bed and stand on shaky, baby legs.

"Dean's tired, son. Try not to wake him if you can." John said, reaching out a steadying hand, and that was all Sam needed to hear. The filter inside his head translated that advice to read, "Dean is more important than you, son. Let him sleep."

Sam nodded, understanding that nothing had changed, and pushed his father's hand away.

"Sam …"

"I'm fine, John. I got it." Sam said clearly, without malice in his voice. Sam just didn't feel the need to call the man Dad anymore, and that was a simple fact. He made his way to the bathroom unassisted, and when he was done, he made his way back. He lay down on the little couch against the wall because he didn't feel strong enough to fight his way across Dean again. And also, he feared the punishment that might come should he accidentally wake the older boy. So he folded himself up and lay down on the couch, shivering, until John placed a blanket across him. Sam was able to drift off then, wishing, in the secret place in his mind where he allowed such thoughts to happen, that he never had to wake back up to the bleakness of this life that his father had chosen for him.

###

Dean stood over the small couch, looking down. Why the hell was Sam curled up there like a pretzel? The kid's legs were way too long for the small couch that was really like a love seat. And Dean knew, beaten up as he was, the kid's position had to be agonizing. He stooped down and shook his brother gently.

"Hey, Sammy?"

The kid's eyes popped open immediately, and they were clear for the first time in days. It made Dean smile, and he shone down upon his little brother like the sun. But Sam didn't bask in his rays as he should have. Normally, Dean's smiles were contagious to Sam, but this time, all the older boy saw staring back at him was wariness. Sam looked like he was ready to bolt at any moment.

"Did I wake you?" Sam asked, his voice … strange. "I'm sorry. I tried not to. John said not to."

Dean frowned. "You didn't wake me, shrimp, but I wish you would have. What are you doing way over here on the couch?"

Sam's eyes fluttered and fell closed. "Hurt too much to climb back over you, and I was scared."

Dean's mouth fell open. "Scared? Why were you scared?"

Sam mumbled, dropping off. "I … don't think I can take another punishment just yet." He sighed, serious as tombs. "Need a few more days. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

Dean swallowed back bile, pushing the kid's words to the back of his mind for dissection another time. Right now Sam needed him. "Come on, Sammy. Back to bed with you. You can't sleep here." He tugged on Sam's arm til he pulled him upright. The rest of his little brother followed then, too out of it to whine, Dean guessed. He helped Sam get settled back in the bed, then covered him with a thick layer of blankets. He sat on the edge, petting his brother's hair.

"Hey, you hungry or thirsty or anything?" He asked. "I can make a run. Get you anything you want?"

But Sam was mostly gone by this time. "Jus' wanna sleep. Wanna sleep and never wake up." he sighed, mouth falling open. Gentle snoring commenced, and Dean was left trying to decipher his brother's disturbing words.


	14. I Remember

Dean blinked, unsure what had wakened him. His eyes fell on Dad's bed across the room. It was empty, cold. The oldest Winchester had returned to the hunt two days ago - two weeks alone with his boys seemingly too much for him anymore.

John had come home just long enough to make sure Sam was okay, was going to be okay. And the moment the kid was up and able to take a piss on his own, Dad had bolted.

Just like that.

Dean had mixed feelings about the hasty exit, but he supposed it would make things easier on Sam when he was finally able to stay awake for longer than ten minutes at a time.

Dean missed his brother. Other than a single sentence spoken here and there as Sam drifted between sleep and wakefulness, Dean hadn't heard his voice in two weeks. He missed the witty conversation, missed the snappy comebacks.

Missed the looks of adoration that Sammy shot his way at odd times throughout the night or day.

Dean wasn't anyone else's role model. He hung no one else's moon. There was no one else who looked to Dean for truth when the rest of the world was drowning in conspiracies.

Nobody but Sam.

Dean missed that. He wanted it back. Badly. And this time, he'd be worthy of such devotion, he decided. He'd be the best role model, the best advisor, the best big brother in the whole world if only Sam would recover. If only the kid would get back to being his old pain-in-the-ass self, Dean would … would believe him.

Next time, he would. He'd believe Sam. Sam had never lied to him before, and Dean had no idea why he'd felt so compelled to challenge that. Why he'd felt so compelled to … to rat Sammy out to Dad like he had.

It made Dean sick to think about it - how he'd bent Sammy over that table and … and … He swallowed hard, disgust and remorse thick in his throat.

Sam probably hated him now anyway. He'd said some things in his sleep these past weeks that sort of alluded to not wanting to wake up. Ever.

And if that happened, well … Dean wouldn't … He wouldn't be able to …

"Dean."

The voice was rusty from disuse, but it was unmistakably Sam's. Dean's eyes went wide, and he sat up, turning to the boy in the bed beside him.

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyes were open, and he was staring at the ceiling. When Dean spoke, his eyes tracked slowly in the older boy's direction. Dean frowned. "Sammy, you okay?"

Silence, then, "Yeah."

Dean leaned over, gazing into both of Sam's pupils. He didn't like the lazy way Sam had looked at him. "You got a headache?"

"No."

Dean paused, tried to smile. "Okay."

Sam cleared his throat, but it was obviously dry and sore. "Where's … where is he?"

Dean studied his brother. "Dad left, Sammy. Said he had to get back to the hunt." Then, "You feelin' okay?"

Sam's eyes closed momentarily, and Dean saw the boy swallow as he nodded without speaking.

"Bet you're thirsty, hunh?"

"Yeah."

That was it. One-syllable answers. Dean didn't know who this was stretched out nearest the wall, but it sure wasn't his overly verbal little brother.

Dean fetched a cold water bottle from the mini fridge and brought it to Sam, reaching out to help the boy sit up.

But Sam disregarded the hand that Dean extended. Instead he turned partway so he was lying on one side, and from there, he was able to brace one arm and raise himself into a sitting position.

Dean smiled, pretending not to notice, and handed Sam the bottle - pre-opened of course.

And Sam took it, tiilting it back and chugging until Dean was forced to reach out and pull the bottle down and away. "Easy. Too much too fast'll have you puking everywhere, Sammy."

Sam nodded, handing the bottle back to Dean. He sat still, eyes roving the room until they came back to settle on Dean.

Dean smiled again, hoping for something in return, but all he got for his trouble was a blank Sammy stare.

"You hungry? You gotta be starving. Dad could only rouse you something like once every two days and force a few crackers down your gullet."

Sam stared, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he shook his head. "No." He sank back down into the covers and turned away from Dean to face the wall. "Just tired."

Dean felt Sam's brush-off like a loss. He tried to parry.

"I could make a run? Get you anything you want. I saw a Dennys nearby. How about that chicken cranberry salad crap that looks like a bird already ate it once."

Sam mumbled something, and Dean had to lean over to hear. "What was that, kiddo?"

"I said I need to … need to go."

"Oh. Okay. You need help?"

Sam shook his head. "You're in my way." He shifted back into a sitting position. "I don't feel like … I can't climb over you."

"Oh." Dean stood up rapidly. "Sorry, kiddo. You shoulda said something."

"It's okay." Sam replied, scooting carefully forward and trying not to grimace. He put two legs gingerly over the side of the bed and tried resting his weight on his feet. He stood, hissing.

Dean was right at his elbow. "Still hurts? You need the crutches? Sammy, you can lean on me if you need to."

"I'm … I'm okay. Just … legs feel like jelly." Sam took a tentative step forward, a small smile starting when he found his legs held him.

Dean saw and smiled himself. "So, no pain?"

Sam shrugged. There was; he just wasn't comfortable complaining, Dean could tell. The older boy sighed.

"Sammy, if it hurts, you can tell me, man. I can help."

"I'm fine." Sam shuffled forward until he stood at the door to the small bath. "Gonna take a shower. You need in first?"

Dean shook his head. "Take your time. Holler if you need anything, okay? I don't mind coming in with you, you know."

Sam hesitated, and Dean stepped forward. "What, Sam? What do you need?"

Sam looked down at the heavy sweatshirt someone had dressed him in along the way. He might as well have been wearing Kevlar. "I … I'm not sure I can get this off." He explained, face flushing.

"Oh. Okay. Hang on." Dean stepped close and tugged one sleeve over Sam's hand until it released his arm. Then he repeated the action on the other side.

"Here, can you tilt your head a bit, hairdoo?" Dean asked, and grinned when he got a snort for his efforts. He carefully worked the shirt up and over his brother's head, and stepped back, triumphant. His elation was short-lived, however, when he stepped back and looked at Sam.

The kid's entire torso was a mass of gray and green fading bruises. Even his arms had been battered. Dean had to look away, fighting off the impulse to hug his little brother tightly to his chest.

He cleared his throat. "Look, Sammy. I … uh … I know you want your space and all, but if you ever remember who did that, you'll tell me, right?"

"I remember." Sam answered softly, turning to the bath.

Dean's eyes widened. He put out a hand. "Wait a minute. You remember now?"

Sam's eyes closed. He rested one hand on the door knob and nodded.

Dean waited. "Sammy, come on. Tell me. Who did this to you? How'd it happen?"

Sam stood with his head down. "He gave me a message for you."

Dean paled. "Who?"

"Wade. He said I should tell you that you're cool, that this had nothing to do with you. It was me that was the …"

Dean's eyes narrowed into slits as his breathing kicked up. On the edges of his vision, he saw red. "You tellin' me Wade did this to you? Wade from Moseby?"

Sam nodded.

"Tell me, Sam. You tell me the rest. Right now."

Sam sighed. "I … he said I was an asshole and that I needed taken down a peg or two. He said if I ever … you know … remembered … I should tell you that this wasn't your fault. That he thinks you're cool."

Dean ignored the rest for now. "Why did he think you wouldn't remember?"

Sam looked up then, eyes haunted. "They held me down, Dean. I swear. I didn't have a choice. I didn't want it. I didn't. Darin …"

"What about Darin?" Dean's voice held a razor edge.

"Darin tried to stop them, but Wade, he kicked him. He fell. He couldn't help me. He tried." Sam's voice trailed off sadly, and the sound made Dean's eyes water.

"What, Sammy? What'd those bastards do?"

"Wade, he lit a plant on fire, and held it under my nose. It smoked. It stunk."

"You couldn't turn away?"

Sam shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Grady held me down."

"Where?"

"On a m-mat. Some kind of gym mat. In the garage." Sam pleaded with Dean to believe him. "I tried to hold my breath. I held it for as long as I could, but then I couldn't anymore, and I had to inhale. The smoke … it b-burned."

"So Grady was holding you and Wade held the weed under your nose?"

Sam nodded.

"Whyn't you fight? I know they're bigger, but you could have taken both those assholes, Sammy."

"My feet. I couldn't stand. And I hurt all over. Wade dragged me through the field. He threw me in the back of the truck."

Dean couldn't speak. All he could do was focus on listening to the sound of his brother's pained voice recount his ordeal and try to remember to breathe.

"I only … I think it was only a little while, but then I couldn't move. I just … Grady let me go, and I fell back on the mat. The room was spinning. I think … think maybe I threw up."

"What about the bruises? Do you remember how you got so beat up?"

Sam paused, and his hands began to shake. "There was … Wade's f-father had a t-tent rolled up in the corner. He … Wade … he found it. It had poles and stakes and stuff. He …"

"What Sammy? Go on."

"He just started hitting me with the tent pole. Him and Grady. They each took a pole, and they took turns hitting me."

Dean stared, not picturing it. He definitely wasn't picturing those two assholes beating his baby brother with metal poles. He wasn't picturing it because if he did, he'd … he'd …

"Sammy …" He whispered. "I … you …"

"S'okay, Dean. It's over now. I survived it." Sam said, staring at the floor. "I'm gonna … gonna shower now." he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. Dean heard the water kick on, and he turned, trying not to vomit.

His friends.

His fault.

Dean was gonna kill some sonsabitches.


	15. Something's Happening

Dean disconnected the call and reached for the pile of clean sheets. This place wasn't much, but the housekeeping staff was on the ball, Dean would give them that. Whether the ladies had just taken a liking to him and Dad, or they were this conscientious with everyone, Dean had no idea. But the Winchester clan had clean sheets and towels for days.

And he'd just ordered in delivery from a sub shop nearby. Got Sam some sweet potato fries and a chicken salad sub, along with a side of chicken soup. It would likely arrive before Sam made it out of the shower, which gave Dean time to make up the bed with clean, crisp sheets and the extra blanket from the bed Dad had used.

Dean supposed he could sleep there now if he wanted too, but ever since he was a kid, Sam had slept better with Dean in the bed beside him.

And if Dean had a secret need to study the rise and fall of his brother's chest at odd times throughout the night, just to make sure the kid was still breathing … well, nobody needed to know that.

And besides, even if Sam didn't need that contact right now, Dean needed it desperately. Just to know Sam was alive and breathing beside him went a long way toward assuaging at least a small portion of his guilt.

Dean heard the knock at the door, and glanced over to the small table. Dad had paid for the one Sam had collapsed on, and they'd taken it away and brought a new one. It was a bit sturdier, a bit bigger, and it came with a second chair so they could actually eat a meal together like humans for a change.

Dean accepted the delivery, paid and tipped the kid who looked like he was all of 13, and set the table, pushing back a moment of deja vu. He turned abruptly when the bathroom door opened, and Sam stepped out in a billowing cloud of steam. He was holding a towel draped loosely around his waist, and Dean could see every bruise and every too-visible rib the boy had. He looked away, jaw clenching. "You … uh … you need clothes, Sam?" He asked, digging in a dresser drawer. He came up with a pair of sweat shorts and a flannel button-down. He grinned, holding them out to his brother. "Won't get the fashion award, but the buttons are probably easier than trying to pull a tee over your head." He tossed them to Sam, along with clean boxers and socks.

Sam glanced up and offered his brother a small smile, and to Dean, it was like sunlight breaking over the long, dark night. He smiled back, feeling his heart unclench just a little. "Go get dressed, Samantha, those ribs sticking out all over are making me lose my appetite. You know you're only supposed to have 12 pair of those things. Why's it look like you got at least 30?"

Sam smiled shyly, looking down at himself. He shrugged. "Chicks dig skinny, Dean." He said in a raspy voice. "You're just jealous." He turned away from his brother and sat down on the far bed. Grabbing a second towel from the stack, he began laboriously drying his feet.

Dean stared. This. This right here. He'd missed this. He snorted, ready to counter Sam's attack. "Skinny is one thing. You look like a wendigo on a diet. You trying to impress the monster girls now, little bro?"

Sam looked up, grinning. "Maybe." He rasped. "Why? You interested? I could probably score you a rawhead."

Dean's eyes widened, "Why you little …" He threatened with no force behind it.

Sam laughed at his brother's uncharacteristic speechlessness, but suddenly the laugh turned into a cough, which turned into a bark, which ended with Sam unable to get his breath and turning a pale shade of blue. He turned panicked eyes on Dean.

But the older boy was already in motion. Sliding up behind Sam, he began rubbing gentle circles on the kid's back, between his shoulder blades. Speaking quietly to him, he calmed Sam down enough that the younger boy could draw a single deep breath. It rattled, and it sounded a bit painful, but it allowed Sam to relax enough to draw in another and then another. Gradually, his color returned, and he collapsed backward onto Dean's chest, his head tilting back to rest on the older boy's shoulder.

"Okay now, Sammy?" Dean murmured gently.

"Think so." Sam wheezed, his eyes closed. "Just … just give me a minute."

"I gotcha, Sam. Take all the time you need."

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Think I'm gonna be sick." Sam blurted, pitching forward and heaving helplessly. Dean grabbed the trash can that sat next to the bed and held it for his brother, but there was nothing in Sam's stomach for him to expel - just dry heaves, punctuated by moans of agony, as Sam's sore ribs and muscles took the brunt of the assault.

"Damn, Sam. You're gonna cough up a lung there." Dean cautioned as he helped the youngest Winchester back into bed.

"Got you a nice big lunch, but maybe you better start with the soup, yeah?" He brought the container to Sam, popping the top and sinking the plastic spoon in deep. He stirred and was happy to see big chunks of carrots, celery and real chicken. There were plenty of noodles too.

"Looks good, Sammy. "Looks real good. Think you can eat a bit of it for me? You're never going to get your strength back if you don't eat." He looked at the boy who was sitting up, using the headboard as a backrest. Sam's eyes were teary, his breaths coming short and painful. He looked anything but hungry, but Sam surprised him by reaching out for the soup and nodding.

"I'll try."

Dean looked from Sam's shaking hands to the container filled with hot soup skeptically. He met the boy's eyes. "Uh, Sam, why don't you let me …"

But Sam cut him off. "I can still feed myself, Dean." he insisted, making a conscious effort to still his quaking muscles. "Just, take the spoon out. Easier to drink it."

Dean nodded and handed Sam the foam container against his better judgment. But Sam grasped it securely in two trembling hands and was able to take a few sips. He handed it back way too soon.

"Can't. Feel sick." He explained, looking a little green.

Dean smiled, "S'okay. You did good, Sammy. It's gonna take a little time is all. You wanna try the fries?"

Sam shook his head. "Save 'em for me for later?"

"You got it." Dean set the soup on the nightstand and sat studying his little brother. The boy sat tangled in a nest of warm blankets, dressed in clean clothes and full of warm, homemade soup. Finally Dean felt like he'd done something right. He was thinking of what else he could possibly do to make this whole horrible month up to Sam when the boy spoke, surprising him.

"You remember last year when John went on that hunt a few states away and left us in nowhere, Mississippi? It was summer, and the motel was crappy - didn't even have an air conditioner that worked?"

Dean nodded, smiling. He knew where this was going.

"So you piled us in the car, and we just started driving - exploring all the back roads."

"And we found that carnival." Dean cut in.

Sam grinned, his eyes far away, remembering. "That was a good day."

Dean nodded. It hadn't been a good day. It had been a freakin' awesome day - just him and Sam and an assortment of impossible-to-win carnival games and all the food they could eat. They'd had rides too, and he and Sam had bought wristbands that let them ride everything as often as they wanted. They'd done the ferris wheel so many times, Dean had felt it for days afterward every time he closed his eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy. That was damned good day." Dean agreed.

Sam's head turned toward him, eyes moving lazily. "Thanks for that, Dean. I-I always think about that day when … I think about that day a lot."

Dean's eyes welled. "That's good, Sammy. You don't have to thank me though. That was pretty much my perfect day too. No dad. No weapons. No school. Just me and my PITA kid bro." He meant it jokingly, but when Sam didn't smile back, he worried. "Sam?"

"Something's happening …" Sam whispered.

Dean's heart dropped into his shoes. "What? What's going on, Sam? Tell me."

But Sam's face was slack, his eyes staring far away.

"Sam! Sammy!"


	16. I'm Gone

"So, uh, I guess if you get this message, Dad, call me. Bobby knows a guy who knows a guy, and they've got Sammy holed up at a private clinic here. Doc thinks the, uh, the stuff Sam smoked - the stuff they made him smoke - did some kind of a number on his brain cells. He just kinda goes in and out at times. They think it'll right itself in time, but it's, you know, scary as hell to witness. I … I kind of need you here, Dad, if you think you can get away. There's no charge for the care, but I've maxed out the one card we had, and Sam still needs stuff, you know? So, anyway, call me."

Dean snapped his phone shut, sighing. He'd planned to be back scoping out Moseby Jr-Sr High by this time, waiting for his old buddies to show so he could feed their useless, kid-abusing asses to the nearest wendigo he could find.

But that was out of the question for now. Sam needed him. The kid was mostly okay, except for when he wasn't, and those … seizures he was having … the doc called them absence seizures, scared the hell out of Dean. Seeing Sam just … check out like that, even if it was only for less than a minute at a time, was terrifying. Doc said he might outgrow them. Might. But if he didn't, driving was out of the question. So was hunting. If the kid ever checked out like that in the heat of the moment, he'd be vamp chow in a heartbeat.

Dean ran a frustrated hand across his face and tried to smile at the pharmacist.

"One prescription for Resta." the woman said, violating every HIPAA law ever written. She handed the bag across the counter to him and turned to her cash register. "That's a $25 copay, Mr. Talman." She handed the fake prescription card back to him. Bobby had lots of friends who had lots of talents, thank goodness. And generating fake insurance and prescription cards were two of them. Dean paid the woman and turned to go. But as he turned, he caught a glance of that contact juggling ball Sam had seen on TV. The kid hadn't said he'd wanted it, but he stopped on the damned infomercial every time he ran across it. And Dean had noticed him researching it online one day when Sam thought no one was looking. It had a price tag of $20, but suddenly Dean didn't care. He plucked the toy off the shelf, and made it a point to run into the next well-dressed man he saw. Dean made his apologies and did a quick perusal of the wallet he'd managed to lift. He quickly pocketed the $284 in cash and dropped the wallet at the service desk. Heading back through the supercenter, he picked up a 24-pack of bottled water, some of that disgusting Greek yogurt that Sam liked and several cans of chicken noodle soup - the expensive kind that was usually off their list. It had real bits of meat and potatoes in it though, and Sam had tried it once and loved it. He added some herbal tea, orange juice, pudding cups, and antibiotic ointment to his basket with the juggling toy, and headed for the checkout.

He pulled away from the crowded parking lot smiling as he pictured Sam's face when he arrived back at the clinic.

###

Sam was gonna go crazy, there was no argument there. He'd never been good at being confined to bed, and now that his feet were healing and his ribs hurt less, he wanted nothing more than to be up moving around.

They wouldn't let him though. Instead, it was just one brain scan after another until he thought he was going to scream. He didn't even know where Dean had gone. The older boy had simply patted him condescendingly on the head like he was a pet dog instead of a brother and said he'd had errands to run.

Sam glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that it had been over three hours since Dean had left him. In that time, they'd come to get him once for another brain scan, once for an x-ray. And Sam thought if they didn't soon stop lighting him up, he was going to start glowing for sure.

He sat alone in the small, windowless room that was really just the den in the back of someone's house and gave in to the feelings of hopelessness that were trying to drag him under. He lay back on the hospital bed and tossed an arm across his forehead, not caring that tears welled up and leaked out the corners of his eyes.

He was just so tired of it all.

It seemed no matter how hard he tried, he was just destined to end up back where he'd started. There would always be another town, another school he hated, another bully to make his life miserable.

Another hospital.

Damn, Sam was sick of hospitals and clinics and small-town emergency rooms. He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured a bright, sunny day. It was warm, and the wind was comforting against his skin. There was a group of boys and a soccer ball, and in the middle of it, Sam ran. He ran and dodged and kicked and grinned when he made a goal. Dean was there, clapping and even John … no John wouldn't be there … not without a scowl on his face and fury in his eyes.

Sam gulped. Even in his daydreams, he was terrified of the man.

And just as though Sam's inner thoughts had been broadcast across the space that separated them, Sam's phone suddenly jingled. He flipped it open before checking to see that it was Dean only to find John himself on the other end of the line. He grimaced, gritting his teeth.

"Hello?" Sam whispered, suddenly fearful. He was so focused on the call that he started when Dean entered the room. The older boy was grinning and set bags down on the floor beside the bed before realizing that Sam was on the phone.

"Yes sir." Sam closed his eyes. "No, I'm okay."

Dean bumped his knee, a questioning look in his eye.

"John." Sam mouthed, silently, noting his brother's nod, but then he was pulled back into the call.

"No, it's not anything serious. No just … they call them absence seizures, Sir. No, I don't need anything. Dean's here with me. No, you don't have to do that."

But Dean was gesturing for the phone then, and Sam handed it off to him, relieved to be out of the hot seat.

"Dad? Yeah, it's me. You get my message? Well, but they don't know for sure yet … No, well, maybe. They haven't finished … Yeah, they're treatin' him okay, it's just I could use … No, I really need you to … Dad, just listen, okay? Sammy needs …" Dean frowned, glancing once at Sam then turning away.

"No, Dad. He's not alright, okay? He's really hurt, and he needs you. I need … Don't say that!" Dean's voice was suddenly angry, and Sam could tell he'd forgotten that Sam was right there listening.

"No, he's not! It is not! How can you say that? He didn't do anything to deserve … you got it all wrong, Dad. He does not! I'm going to just as soon as Sam … No, I can't leave him all alone. Why don't you come home and stay with him, and then I can go settle things? No, Dad. No, you're not being fair." Sam watched Dean's frustration build, his heart sinking as he realized that once again, Dean only wanted to leave him. Sam lay back in his bed, bereft.

"I can't believe you. How can you say that? Sam's never been a liability. Well, it's not his fault this time either! Maybe if you were here a little more … nothing, Dad. It's just, maybe you could keep him out of trouble then, since I seem to do such a shit job of it." Dean glanced apologetically at his brother and took the phone out into the hallway, pulling the door closed.

But Sam had gotten the message. Dad was pissed at Dean because Sam had once again found trouble. Dean was pissed that he was getting the blame.

Sam wished that he could shrivel up and disappear as he turned on his side, facing away from the door, and let the few tears that had been trapped in the corners of his eyes finally go free.

###

Dean snapped the phone shut and took a shaky breath. Damn, his father had an innate ability to screw with him, even over the damned phone. And Dean felt sheepish then, realizing that Sam had overheard way too much of that conversation. He pushed the door to Sam's room open hesitantly and stepped inside.

The kid was curled up in a ball, facing away from him, which told Dean everything he needed to know. He sighed, feeling like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"Hey Sammy. So, how you feeling, hunh?" Dean approached the bed, almost dreading his brother's reply.

Sam shrugged.

"Yeah? So what's that mean?"

"I'm fine. I just wanna get out of here."

"Yeah, I know. Well, Dad'll be here soon and …" But Dean didn't get a chance to finish before Sam whirled, eyes flashing.

"Why!"

Dean took a step back. "Hunh?"

"Why is he coming? Why'd you call him, Dean? You know what's gonna happen."

But Dean was suddenly at least three mental steps behind his brother. "What the hell you talkin' about? What's gonna happen?"

"I heard that whole conversation, Dean. I'm not deaf!"

"And?"

"And he thinks this is all my fault! And you just wanna be rid of me! So just go already! I don't need you, and I sure as hell don't need him!"

Dean swallowed, had it really sounded like that?

"Sam, listen. Don't say that, okay? I don't wanna be rid of you. Shit, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Against your will, apparently." Sam crossed his skinny arms across his chest in a gesture of defiance or self-defense. Dean wasn't sure which. "Just go." Sam's lower lip was trembling. "I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience to you anymore. You used to like …" Sam cut himself off then, looking away, and Dean's heart skipped a little when the single tear ran down the kid's face.

He sighed. "Sam, it ain't like that. I'm sorry I let you think it was, but it's not."

"Then how is it? Cause it sure feels like you hate me, anymore, Dean. You shove me around. You leave me alone to go off with those … those …" Sam turned pain-filled eyes to his brother. "They HURT me, Dean. They were YOUR friends, and they HURT me, and you don't … you don't even CARE! All you want is to get away from me. Well I'm letting you go. So there. Go! No need to feel guilty. Just go. Go back to them and … and smoke some more of Wade's shit. Maybe the two of you can plan the next attack. Maybe toss me off a damned bridge next time." Sam's face was a study in fury.

"Sam, I swear to God …" Dean was getting a little pissed himself. How dare Sam say shit like that to him? He'd practically given up his life to raise the little shit. "You need to shut the hell up, right now."

But Sam was hurting, and he wanted Dean to hurt with him. "What's John gonna do when he gets here, hunh? He bringing his belt along? Thanks for THAT too, Dean. That wasn't the shit icing on the fucked up cake or anything."

Dean's face paled. "Sam …"

"That beating really helped, Dean. I sure learned my lesson. I sure learned to stay away from your fucking asshole friends, and you know what else I learned, Dean? I learned I shoulda' stayed away from you too!"

Dean backed away from his brother's bed, too angry and too guilt-ridden to fight back. But Sam wasn't done.

"You hate me so much? You hate bein' around me so much. Then why are you still here!" Sam looked around for something, anything to throw. He settled on the ink pen that sat on the tray beside the bed, snatching it up and hurling it at his brother. "Get out! Just … just get out! Leave me the hell alone! I'm fine without you!"

Dean rubbed at the welt the pen left behind when it collided with his cheek. Damn, Sam had a throwing arm on him. He felt his own tears rising, not from the physical pain, but from the verbal assault his brother was launching. And he'd be damned if he'd cry in front of Sam. He chose the lesser of two evils.

"If that's what you want, Sam!" He shouted back. "I can leave. Oh hell yeah, I can leave. Let's see how well you do without me, if you're so sick of me."

"I am! I am sick of you! Just go already!"

Dean strode purposefully to the door. "You got it, little brother. I'm gone." And he stepped through and slammed it behind him.

Once in the hallway, Dean strode angrily toward the exit. He glanced at his watch. Dad would be here in about six hours. Dean had only to wait to see the truck pull up, and then he'd be on his way. He needed space. Sam obviously needed space.

It would be better for everyone involved if he just disappeared for awhile.


	17. The Hunt

Dean waited just long enough to see Dad's truck pull up outside the clinic. He saw the older man step out of the vehicle, glance around for the Impala, shake his head and enter the clinic. That was when Dean pulled slowly out of his parking space behind the parked semi and cruised away in the direction of Moseby.

He probably should have waited and talked to Dad or said goodbye to Sammy, but he just couldn't take any more drama right now. He knew Dad would forbid him to leave and Sam would pull the sad beagle eyes, and that would just be it.

Dean needed some time to himself. He needed time where he didn't have to listen to Dad lecturing or Sammy whining. He just needed … he needed …

He cranked up the radio and sat back, taking a deep breath. His phone was off, the road was open before him, and he had business back in Moseby. He felt his mood lighten for the first time in what felt like weeks.

He smiled, humming along with the Allman Brothers. Today was going to be a good day.

###

Sam was dressed and waiting in the armchair inside his room when John pushed open the door and stepped inside. The boy fingered the juggling ball in his hand and looked up waiting, knowing nothing good could come of this. Sam shuddered.

The things he'd said to Dean … Sam beat himself up mentally, had been beating himself up for the last three hours. He'd tried to call his brother, but Dean's phone was stubbornly off. He hadn't meant it, not any of it. And then when he'd slipped out of bed and gotten a glimpse of the items Dean had purchased, he just felt ten times worse.

He couldn't remember telling Dean how much he wanted to try out that contact juggling ball, but somehow, his brother had known. Sam had smiled as he tugged it free of the bag. He'd sat right down on the floor by the bed and extracted it from its box. Reading through the instructions, Sam tried the easiest maneuver and grinned when it worked perfectly.

He loved it. This was going to be ever-more challenging as he worked through the more complicated maneuvers. It was just the sort of scientific challenge that Sam loved. Plus it might help him get his motor skills back in tune. Ever since, since that day, Sam had just felt off. This was the perfect distraction for him right now.

Then he dug further and found the Greek yogurt that he knew Dean hated, and the pudding cups they both loved, and Sam just felt … loved. Then he felt sad. Dean had gone out of his way to get Sam his favorite things, and Sam knew the boy hadn't had a dime on him. How he'd swung it, Sam had no idea, but the whole thing just made him feel this weird combination of happy and sad.

And now John was here and staring down at him, and Sam could scarcely bring himself to meet the older man's eyes.

He knew he was going to see scorn there, and irritation. Sam finally looked up and caught his breath.

All he saw in his father's eyes was concern and worry, and maybe just a touch of sadness. John smiled down at him, nodding to the toy. "Where'd you get that?"

"Dean." was all Sam said, his voice cautious. Then he gestured the bags he'd piled on the bed. "He brought pudding and yogurt too, if you're hungry."

John's eyes lit up for a moment, and Sam suddenly felt like he was talking to a man instead of to a soldier. John smiled at him again and moved over to the bed. He rustled the bags open and looked inside, nodding.

"Good thing I got a cooler full of ice out in the truck." He commented, slipping one of the yogurts out of it's sleeve and peeling the top back. He offered it to Sam, who took it, too surprised to refuse. "I know you like that stuff, hunh?"

Sam nodded, "It has lots of protein."

John nodded, opening a second one for himself. Both Winchesters commenced eating the treat without spoons, squeezing the flimsy plastic containers to get the creamy yogurt out of the cups. When they were done, they exchanged glances, and John smiled. "That hit the spot."

Sam nodded, almost scared of this gentle, foreign man who seemed so unlike his overbearing father.

John cleared his throat, and Sam looked up expectantly. "So, you doing okay, Sammy? Your seizures? They're gone?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Did you talk to the doctors?"

John shook his head. "No need. You know better than they do how you're feeling son. Are you okay? Have you had one lately?"

Sam considered the question. "Well … I'm not sure, I guess. They said I probably don't know I'm having one."

John nodded. "So they're pretty mild? Just sort of drift off?"

Sam nodded. "I think so."

"They give you any medication?"

Sam reached into his pocket and tugged out the prescription Dean had brought him. "This."

John nodded, reaching out to take bottle. He dug reading glasses out of his coat pocket and looked it over, concentrating on the side effects. He looked at Sam over the top of his glasses, "You take it yet?"

Sam nodded. "About three hours ago."

"And how do you feel?"

"Okay, I guess."

John nodded and handed the medication back to his son. "Sammy, I …" he paused, running a hand over his face.

Sam was suddenly concerned. John wasn't really acting like John. "What's wrong, sir?"

But John stalled, "You able to get hold of your brother? Is he picking up for you? Say where he went?"

Sam shook his head. "His phone's off. I tried."

"So did I. And when I finally see him again, he's in for a world of hurt."

Sam's face paled at that, and John saw. The older man tried to smile. "Just a figure of speech, Sam. Dean knows better is all I meant to say."

"I know." Sam replied quietly.

John shifted uncomfortably, his eyes roaming the room. "Here's the thing, Sam." He finally confessed. "I'm real close on this vetala thing, and Caleb got called away to help Bobby."

Sam nodded, anticipating a stay with Pastor Jim in his future.

"I just ... I was sort of counting on your brother for this one, Sam. But if you're feeling okay, and you think you can do it, I could sure use your help, son?"

Sam sat stunned. John needed his help. He needed his help to hunt vetala. Not even Dean had had that opportunity. "You need MY Help?" he clarified, not believing what he'd just heard.

John nodded, looked worried. "I'd never ask, Sammy, especially not against a foe as formidable as vetala, but I'm up against it here, son. More people are dying everyday. These things hunt in pairs, backing each other up, and they're like snakes. They look human, but they bite their victims and inject a paralyzing poison. Three feeds and the victim is dead. I … I need help on this one, Sam."

And something inside Sam's heart began to thaw. John needed him. He needed him for a hunt - something important, something that mattered. Sam swallowed down the fear and the misgivings and shot his father a blazing smile.

"Sure, Dad. I can help."


	18. Bait

John glanced over at his son, bent over the ancient book of lore as the frigid winter scenery flashed by outside.

"Whatcha got?"

Sam frowned, looking thoughtful. "I don't know. Something doesn't add up."

"Like what?"

"Well, vetala are basically vampires, right? Except they have that added little perk of being able to inject a paralyzing poison into anyone they bite."

"Right." John nodded. "I've seen the bites on the victims in the morgue. Always in the neck, always multiple wounds that occurred over hours."

"So vampires are pretty straightforward, right? I mean, they suck you dry and that's it. They don't usually play around with their victims?"

John nodded. "Not physically, at least. They're pretty heavy into mind games though.

"And the victims have all been kids? I mean, this folder says there were nine altogether. The youngest was 10, the oldest 14."

John nodded. "What are you seeing, son?"

Sam looked up, "How long does the poison last?"

"About 7 hours, we think. From the time the victims were snatched until time of death was 21 hours in every case."

Sam thought about that. "So … The first bite disabled them for seven hours. The second bite for another seven. The third for another seven, right? And they were unconscious for all this time?"

John shrugged, "Maybe not unconscious but paralyzed for sure - helpless from the time of the initial attack."

Sam frowned. "Then why rough them up?"

"What?"

Sam shifted back through the files on his lap. "All the victims had fresh bruises, and in one case, they found evidence of restraints. I mean, if they were disabled from the moment they were taken, why bother tying them up or, you know, hurting them? That doesn't really fit with vetala legend."

John stared over at his genius son. "I don't know."

Sam looked up, "Maybe the vetala didn't leave the marks."

John felt the dawning of the light. "Maybe the kids had the marks before they were ever taken."

"Before they were ever CHOSEN." Sam corrected.

"What are you saying, son?"

"That maybe vetala target abused kids. Kids who are easy targets because they're already either hurt or helpless."

John shook his head. "That's nine kids, Sammy. For the vetala to have happened on all of them, like that … that's a long shot."

Sam looked back down at the research, "Yeah," He agreed absently. "You'd think."

John kept quiet, recognizing the look of concentration on his son's face. Suddenly Sam looked up.

"I think you should talk to the school teachers."

The older man nodded.

"See if any kids came to school with marks like that."

John snorted. "Well," he conceded. "It's a good plan, Sammy, but they're not gonna just give up information like that."

Sam grinned over at him. "Never stopped us before."

John smiled. It was odd, having this conversation with his youngest son. Usually their talks were marked more by shouting and ultimatums than they were by civility and reason. He glanced over to mention that to Sam and was startled by the blank stare looking back at him. Sam's eyes were hooded, his mouth slack. And when John pulled over and snapped his fingers in the boy's face, he got no reaction.

"Sammy! Sam! Come on. Look at me!" He grasped his son's chin, but the boy's head rolled to the side listlessly.

John was just about to call 911 when Sam suddenly blinked. He lifted his head and continued his conversation like nothing had happened. "We should hack into the school records of the victims just to see what they say."

John stared at his youngest and tried to put his heart back where it had been before it had taken that giant leap into his throat. "Sammy?" He croaked.

Sam looked up at the odd tone in his father's voice. He frowned at his father's expression. "What, Dad?"

John stared, then looked away. "Nothing, son. Uh, that's … that some good ideas you've got there." he said, pulling back out onto the highway.

Sam's mouth dropped open at the praise, but his startled expression quickly blossomed into a grin. "Thanks, Dad."

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Hmm?"

"You overdue for your medicine?"

Sam shook his head. Not for another hour yet."

John nodded, worried.

"They only give you that one prescription?"

Sam suddenly looked sheepish. "I think they had a second one they wanted to try, but we kind of left before they brought it."

John's hands tightened on the wheel. He looked over at his son, a grim expression on his face. "Think you shoulda' mentioned that?"

Sam shrugged, swallowing hard. "Didn't seem important, I guess."

"I see." John tried to push back the anger those words stirred.

Sam could tell his confession hadn't gone over well. "Sorry, Dad. I just didn't want to screw anything up is all. You wanted to leave and …"

"I get it, Sam."

They drove in silence for awhile, Sam staring out the window, wondering if he'd wrecked this newfound peace he'd finally found with his father before it could last even a single day.

But John's thoughts were traveling along other lines. He glanced over at his young son - all arms and legs and ... and bruises, and made a decision.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"How would you feel about playing bait?"


	19. Taken

Sam licked his lips nervously. Another strange school in another strange town, only this time, there was the added danger of Sam acting as bait. He'd managed to hack the school records of the victims, and they'd all attended the same middle school, with the exception of the 10-year-old who'd had an older brother who went there. Not only that, they'd all had the same music teacher at one point throughout their school careers. This was enough information for Dad to sign him right up and to request that music teacher by name.

Sam was nervous, like, sick nervous. It was the end of his first week in the school, and he knew he'd already attracted the attention of the teacher whom John suspected of being one of the vetala. The man had noticed Sam's bruises on day one and had asked about them. Sam had just shrugged and refused to share any information. He'd tried his best to look like an abused kid.

And it was working.

The music teacher was paying special attention to Sam, asking him to stay after to help clean up the classroom and writing him notes so he could spend his free study time in the music room. It gave Sam the creeps, but so far the man hadn't done anything that could be outwardly construed as inappropriate.

But it was coming, Sam could feel it. He could feel that he'd been chosen, and it was terrifying.

Sam really wanted his brother.

But Dean's cell was still off. It had been almost two weeks, and Dean hadn't checked in. Sam was determined that tonight he was going to leave the older boy a message and share his worries. Once Dean found out that Sam was playing bait in a vetala hunt, he'd hightail it back.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Sam wasn't sure exactly where he fell on his brother's list of priorities anymore, and that thought made tears well up behind his eyes. A year ago, heck, even a few months ago, Sam would have said he held the top spot, but now … well. It just all felt like a crapshoot these days. Sam guessed it was because Dean was growing up and growing … growing away. It hurt to think that someday his brother wouldn't be concerned about him at all. But then again, Sam thought maybe that day had already come.

Dean was still tops on his list, though, despite all the hateful things they'd said and done to one another. Sam regretted that more by the day, and then to not have a chance to make it all better - that just carved a big hole where Sam's heart used to be.

Sam missed his brother. He missed his sarcasm and his aggravating ways, missed the way Dean had of worrying about him and fussing over him when he was sick or injured. He even missed the ridiculous nicknames Dean had for him like Geek Boy and Dudley.

Sam played with the juggling ball on the park bench out behind the school. He was acting as lure under the guise of waiting for Dad to pick him up, and he suddenly felt the need to come clean to his brother. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and hit redial.

The phone went straight to voicemail, but this time Sam didn't care.

"Hey, Dean. It's me. I'm real sorry I said those things. I didn't mean any of them. I wanted to tell you in person, but it doesn't look like you want to talk to me right now, so I'll just leave that here. Dad's been trying to get you too, and he's pissed that you won't answer. I hope … I hope you're okay." Sam took a shuddering breath. "So, anyway, we're in Braxton, and we're pretty sure the vetala are getting onto kids from the music teacher at Cristwood Middle School. We think he's drawn to abused kids, so Dad enrolled me and I made sure to show off all my battle scars, you know." Sam paused, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with fear. "I just … I'm kinda scared, Dean. I wish … I wish you were here to be my backup. Dad's always watching my back, but …"

Dean's phone cut off, but Sam dialed right back.

"But I'd just feel safer if I knew you were here too. You know that feeling you get when you know someone's watching you? That's how I feel right now. I'm pretty sure Mr. Santos has me in his sights …"

Sam was startled just then by movement out of the corner of his eye. He had a quick glimpse of Mr. Santos approaching the bench, then his head was whipped to the side from behind and fangs sank into his neck. The pain was swift and immediate, and Sam screamed only once. Then he felt nothing. His hand relaxed, dropping the phone into the high grass surrounding the bench, and Sam's body slithered to the ground.

Sam could still see, could still breathe, could still hear, but he could do nothing to help himself as Mr. Santos and Ms. Bell - the school's guidance counselor - dragged his lifeless body over to a waiting car and manipulated it inside. They drove slowly away past the old black truck - the man in the driver's seat disabled with a single tranquilizer dart to the neck.

And under the park bench, Dean's voicemail cut off and Sam's phone went dark, the juggling ball lying forgotten and alone beside it.

###

Dean was only about 40 minutes out of Braxton when he decided it was time to own up. He'd had no luck at all in Moseby. The only information he could wrangle out of Darin was that Wade and Grady had skipped town not long after Dean had taken Sam away, and hard as he tried, all he could find out was that the two had taken off on a roadtrip together. Nobody knew where, nobody knew what they were driving, and Dean was disgusted with the lot of them.

That whole damned town sucked, and he was glad to be rid of it. He would find those two though. Eventually. Nobody hurt Sammy that badly, that deliberately and got off scott-free. They'd find that out. They had to come home sometime.

Dean sighed, thinking about his brother. He'd kept his phone off most of the time, but he had checked his messages religiously every night, enough to know that Dad was in Braxton, hunting with Caleb. Sam, he figured, was either with Bobby or Pastor Jim. Dean had received numerous calls from Sam's number, but the kid hadn't left a single message. And don't think Dean wasn't going to make it known how unacceptable THAT was when he saw the squirt in person.

Dad, on the other hand, had left tons of messages, all angrier than the one that came before, which Dean felt was quite the accomplishment.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to decide who he should call first, finally settling on Sammy. The kid was probably frantic by now. Dean knew he didn't really mean all those things he'd said.

The kid was just hurting. Dean hadn't exactly been brother-of-the-year material lately, after all. But he'd make it up to Sam. He would. Just as soon as he saw the little geek again. He hit number one on his speed dial.

He was humming along to Metallica when the unfamiliar voice picked up. "Hello?" It said hesitantly.

Dean frowned. "Who's this?"

"Taylor."

Dean was sure it was a kid on the other end of the line. "Is Sam there?"

"I don't know any Sam unless you mean Sam from history class."

What the hell?

"That's Sam's phone you got in your hand, smart ass. Wanna tell me how you got it?" Dean had a real bad feeling all of a sudden.

Silence.

"Hey kid?"

"You said the a-word."

Dean's eyes rolled. "How old are you?"

"Eleven"

Well that was just great.

"Listen, Taylor. That's my brother's phone in your hand. Where'd you get it?"

"It was layin' under the bench." Taylor explained.

Dean's heart dropped. "It was under the bench and Sam's not around anywhere?"

"Which Sam?"

Dean tried to think over the pounding of the word "FEAR" that was bracketing his skull right now. "The Sam in your history class, what's he look like?"

"Um, he's kinda tall and real skinny. He's nice though."

Dean felt a smile building. "Yeah? What color is his coat?"

"Brown. It's too little though."

"What's his last name?"

"Leonard."

Dean considered this. Maybe. Maybe not. He was stumped on how to proceed when the kid suddenly helped him out.

"He's real good at math though. He helped me figure out quotients."

Dean smiled. "So, listen Taylor. Sam never leaves his phone behind. Are you sure he's not hanging around nearby?"

"Nope. Just me and Dad."

"Did he leave anything else?"

"His ball is here."

"His ball?"

"Yeah, he does tricks with it and stuff. He's always practicing, except …"

"What, Taylor?"

"Dad won't let me pick it up."

"Why not?"

"It … I think it has blood on it."


	20. Devastation

Dean spit into the dust. Carefully avoiding the vomit, he leaned on the back of the old Chevy and tried to catch his breath.

Braxton. The middle school was in Braxton.

Dad hadn't dropped Sammy off someplace safe, instead, he'd taken him along for the ride - stuffed Sam in some school while he went off and played the great, wise hunter. And now …

Now Sammy was gone. He was gone with nothing but his phone and his toy and his … his blood left behind.

Dean fell to his knees. The vetala, they weren't … they weren't just deadly.

They were cruel too. Dean knew because he'd done a little research of his own once Dad had come clean about what he was hunting. They went out of their way to play mind games with their victims. It made it more exciting. Made them feel more alive - something that they hadn't been in centuries.

They would hurt Sam. They'd …

Dean couldn't get it out of his head. Sam scared, alone, paralyzed.

Abandoned.

Dean stumbled back to the driver's seat and fell into the car. He reached for his phone, checking to see if Dad had called back while he was losing his dinner in the dirt along the side of some no-name road too far from anywhere that mattered.

He had two calls from Sam.

Dean squinted. He had two calls from Sam just … just minutes ago. Not more than a half hour ago. His hands shook so badly, he could scarcely pull up his voicemail. Then it beeped, and he heard his brother's voice for the first time in two weeks. Sam sounded so … lost.

 _"Hey, Dean. It's me. I'm real sorry I said those things. I didn't mean any of them. I wanted to tell you in person, but it doesn't look like you want to talk to me right now, so I'll just leave that here. Dad's been trying to get you too, and he's pissed that you won't answer. I hope … I hope you're okay. So, anyway, we're in Braxton, and we're pretty sure the vetala are getting onto kids from the music teacher at Cristwood Middle School. We think he's drawn to abused kids, so Dad enrolled me and I made sure to show off all my battle scars, you know. I just … I'm kinda scared, Dean. I wish … I wish you were here to be my backup. Dad's always watching my back, but …"_

Fuck. FUCK!

Dean brought up the second call.

 _"But I'd just feel safer if I knew you were here too. You know that feeling you get when you know someone's watching you? That's how I feel right now. I'm pretty sure Mr. Santos has me in his sights …"_

There was a pause and then what sounded like a scuffle, and then he was listening to his little brother scream. He dropped the phone like it was living thing and stared down at it in horror.

###

Bobby sighed and yanked the pillow off his head, pitching it across the room. If that damned phone didn't stop ringing, he was gonna toss the thing right in the fireplace. You spent a freakin' week tryin' to make the world a better place, and they couldn't leave you alone long enough to get a decent hour of sleep.

"What!" He barked, without checking the caller ID.

"Bobby!" A voice all but sobbed in his ear. Someone was in trouble. The older hunter straightened immediately.

"What's wrong? Who is this?"

"It's me! Listen, I can't get Dad, and Sammy … Sammy."

Balls. It was Dean. And from the sound of things, he was in trouble. Or Sam was in trouble. Someone was the hell in trouble.

"Dean. Calm down, son. What about Sam?"

"It got him, Bobby! It got him! I h-heard him scream!"

Bobby paled. He searched around for the nearest throwable object and settled on a paperback that detailed the ins and out of silver-bullet making. He pitched it at Caleb, asleep on Bobby's dilapidated couch. It hit the younger hunter square in the face, wrenching a curse from his flanneled form.

"Dean, who … what has Sam again? You're not makin' sense, boy."

As soon as heard the name Dean, Caleb was up and standing beside Bobby, a concerned look in his eye.

The vetala! They … they got Sammy. I can't get Dad. He won't answer his phone. They might have him too."

Bobby felt all the blood leave his face like a valve had been released.

Vetala.

Those were some of the nastiest bastards they hunted. Wretched things that wanted the living to be just as miserable as they were. If they had Sam …He swallowed hard.

"Vetala have your brother?" Bobby repeated, staring at Caleb. The younger man's eyes went wide, and he sank weakly into the old armchair that Bobby just kept around to hold books and papers. Caleb settled down among them, crinkling like an old lady reading her morning newspaper.

"Yeah. Dad - I thought he'd drop Sammy off with you, but he didn't. He took him along. He used him, Bobby. USED him as bait. I need …" Dean took a breath. "I need Caleb's number. He was supposed to head back to Braxton as soon as he was done that vampire thing. He might … he might know what's going on."

Bobby licked his lips, knowing his next words were gonna come as a blow to the already half-hysterical kid.

"Dean …"

"Just a number, Bobby. I just n-need to talk to Caleb."

"Son, Caleb's right here. He's with me."

Bobby heard the sharp intake of breath. "What? But … I thought …"

Caleb took the phone. "Dean, it's Caleb. What's going on?"

"I thought you were with Dad. I thought you with helping him with the vetala thing?"

"I am. I mean, I'm going to. We just finished up here, Dean. I was gonna head back down there in a day or two."

Silence.

"Dean? You okay, man?"

"So, why didn't Dad … Why didn't he wait for you? He never hunts alone."

"Last I heard he was heading down to pick …" Caleb suddenly thought better of what he'd planned to say.

"What, Caleb? Heading where to pick up who?"

Caleb stared at Bobby, hating the words that he was about to speak. "He was heading to the hospital to pick you up, Dean. Said you wanted to help."

Dean dropped his phone. Slowly, he reached down to retrieve it, flipping it shut in the process.

Dad had been coming to get Dean. He'd wanted Dean. Not Sam. Sam was just … just … collateral damage. He was just next on the food chain because Dean had been unreachable.

He thought back to that day in the parking lot two weeks ago. He'd been right there. RIGHT THERE. If Dean had just owned up and faced the music that day instead of doing his disappearing act and being unreachable for weeks …

Sam would never have been involved.

He'd be safe.

He'd be sitting on Bobby's couch right now playing with that ball … that ball that looked like it had b-blood on it. Because he played with that ball all the time, was always practicing tricks. Sam had loved the thing. That's what the kid had said.

Sam loved that ball. Was playing with it when he was … was t-taken.

It was probably the first toy the kid had played with in ages. The first thing he'd owned in years that wasn't geared toward the hunt. School books and weapons. That was Sam's life. School books and weapons and cold fucking spaghetti sauce sandwiches and beatings with a belt and bruises and … and nothingness.

Suddenly Dean remembered every time he'd walked away from Sam. Every cold shoulder, every harsh word, every insulting name he'd ever called him.

Sam had never fought back. Never. Not until that last time. That last time Sammy had finally stuck up for himself, had told Dean what he really thought of him, and what had Dean done in response?

He'd left. Just abandoned the kid. Wouldn't answer his calls even. He'd disciplined his brother using the worst punishment he could possibly use - cold indifference. Sam was way too used to being on the receiving end of that crap from Dad, but not from Dean.

From Dean, it had to have felt like devastation.

Dean crumpled right there in the car seat and just gave into it.

Devastation.

He cried his brother's name.

It sounded like an empty echo. Too late. Too late. Too late.


	21. No Time

Dean pulled up to the school in record time. It had been just 40 minutes since he'd talked to the kid on the phone, and he'd instructed the boy to leave everything the way he'd found it. Dean spotted the park bench right away. The school yard was deserted this time of day, and he glanced around, unsure what he was looking for.

That's when he spotted his father's beat-up truck parked a half-block away and facing the school. Dean advanced carefully, able to see a figure sitting slumped in the front seat. When he was close enough to see that it was, indeed, his father, his vision went red.

If Dad had fallen asleep while some asshole snatched his brother …

But then he was close enough to see the unnatural bend to his father's shoulders and to see the wicked-looking dart that penetrated his neck, and he swore. Leaping forward, He yanked the dart free and checked his father for a pulse.

Dean slapped the man's face gently. "Dad! Dad! Wake up!"

"Dad! Where's Sam!"

It was the mention of his youngest's name that seemed to bring John back from the brink. He opened groggy eyes and tried to focus.

"Dad! Where's Sammy?" Dean's voice was desperate.

"Dunno." John slurred, "Wha … Sammm." He tried to sit up, but fell backward instead. Dean swore and hurried around to the passenger side, climbing in, he helped his father sit up. He found a water bottle on the floor by John's feet and fed it to him a sip at a time.

"Dad, you gotta snap out of it. They got Sam, Dad. Did you hear me? The vetala. They got him."

That brought John to wakefulness with a start. Damn, he felt like hell, but what had Dean just said?

He stared at his oldest, trying to comprehend. "Who?"

Dean studied the man before him, hoping against hope they wouldn't have to take time out to find a hospital. "Just … stay here. I'll be back." Dean muttered. He slipped down from the vehicle and ran toward the bench.

True to his word, the boy had left Sam's things were he'd found them, and any hope the older boy might have had that it was all just a mistake went out the window when he recognized the cheap flip phone. He studied the scene before reaching down to pick it up. He flipped it open and was greeted by a photo of him and Sam as the background image.

He smiled, remembering the day, the time. He hunkered down then and reached beneath the bench to grasp the juggling ball. The kid had written "Sam's" on it in black permanent marker in his neat, block handwriting, and Taylor's dad had been right, the toy was smudged with blood.

Sam's blood, no doubt.

Dean collapsed back on his heels and gave into the hysteria just for a moment. Just for a single moment in time, the anguish was more than he could bear, then he was pushing it back and down like Dad had always taught them. "Bury your feelings deep in the midst of battle, or they'll betray you," Dean repeated silently.

"I'm coming Sammy." He vowed, as he sprinted back toward the truck. "Hold on for me, little brother. I promise, I'm coming."

###

Sam lifted his head. It was the only part of his body that still worked. His vision was blurred, but he could make out the movement of two people. They sat in front of him, and he thought one of them - the woman - petted his hand.

The man, the one he knew as Mr. Santos, the one who had written Sam lunch passes and given him extra credit for reading during study hall, leaned over him. He touched Sam's face tenderly, smiled at him gently. Then he reared back and became something else entirely. Sam felt the sting as the fangs sank in, and he screamed.

He could still scream. He could sort of see. He could hear. He could turn his head if he tried, but trying was too hard. He was so tired. He wanted to scuttle backward on the couch - away from the creature that drained his blood, but he was helpless. Mr. Santos finished feeding and began whispering in Sam's ear.

"It will all be over soon, Sam." He promised, licking away the single bead of blood that dripped down the boy's slender neck. He ran loving hands through Sam's hair, and stared at him possessively. "Are you thinking of your father, Sam? Hoping he'll come to save you? The man in the black truck?" Santos leaned in close.

"I. killed. him." He sing-songed gleefully. And he was all you had, wasn't he? Single dad, lonely son. No mom in the picture, not even a stepmother. Just you and him, Sam. And now he's gone. You're both gone. The Leonard family name stops here, in my livingroom. Now tell me; how does that make you feel?"

A single tear ran down Sam's cheek as he processed the creature's words. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Nobody got the drop on John Winchester like that. He glared at Santos, putting all the angst and hatred of his 12 years behind it.

But the man only laughed. He saw, and he laughed.

"Is there anyone else you care about, Sweet Sammy? Anyone else I can kill slowly and painfully? Cause you just say the word, and I'm all yours." The creature nuzzled the side of Sam's neck, humming. "Wanna hear how Daddy died?"

Sam's breath stuttered then, and he let out a sob before he could stop himself. "You're lying." He spit out between clenched teeth.

Santos growled playfully. "I'm really not. It was … ugly, Sam. He died ugly. He died screaming your name because I told him about all the wonderful plans I had for his son." He pulled back to see Sam's reaction, grinning. "I did, Sammy. I told him everything. Oh, he begged me. He pleaded with me to let you go, but did I?"

Sam remained silent, refusing to play this bastard's game.

Santos grabbed him by the hair and tugged painfully. "No, I didn't because you're here now, aren't you?"

He glanced over at his companion and nodded as she took her turn at Sam's side. The boy tried once again to draw back, but his body refused to cooperate. He grunted once in pain as she nestled herself into the side of his neck and noisily began to feed.

"Don't." Sam whimpered pleadingly. Then, "Dean …"

And Santos chuckled. He'd remember that name for later.

###

Two hundred and sixty miles away, Caleb handed the phone back to Bobby, and the hunters shared a haunted look.

"I'll keep trying to get him back." Bobby directed, grabbing his duffle bag from the closet. "You get the map."

Caleb nodded, stunned. Sam … the kid was barely a teenager for Pete's sake. And of all the monsters in the world to end up with, he thought as he drug out the battered atlas, vetala were some of the worst.

Vetala would feed on you repeatedly, not only feed, but torture. They had sharp, intuitive minds that could almost read their victims. They knew the words that would hurt the most and they revelled in using them.

And Sammy … the kid wore his heart on his sleeve anyway. A kid like Sam in the hands of Vetala … well, they'd have a fucking field day.

"Dammit." Caleb muttered, swiping angrily at his face. He was only a few years older than Dean, and he'd spent enough time around the Winchesters to consider Sam his sort of unofficial adopted brother twice removed or something.

"Chop chop, kid! Bobby snapped. "Time's wastin'. Sam's got 21 hours tops from the time the thing took him. We gotta hustle. You got what you need?"

Caleb looked down, following his quaking finger from Sioux Falls to Braxton and nodded. "Got it. Let's go."


	22. Old Friends

_Warning for language_

"I'm tellin' ya, man. Kid squealed. Shoulda' just took him out when we had the chance." Grady complained, slouched down low in the front seat of Wade's stepbrother's Firebird.

Wade shrugged. "We got time. Kid ain't goin' nowhere."

"How do you know? It ain't like we can call him up and say, 'Hey asshole, give us your location?'"

And Wade smirked. "Got ways."

"You're full of shit."

"Screw you."

"Bite me."

Wade glared sideways and snarled at his friend, "Why the hell you think we're heading to Braxton, shit bird? Think I just felt like a day trip? Freakin' Winchester and his freakin' nosin' around. My father wants my ass, man."

"Hunh?"

"Dean came to my house looking for us. Gave Dad some raft of shit about how we owed him money. Fucker took it outta my hide last night." Wade fingered the fresh bruise on his face.

Grady snorted, "Dude, like your old man needs a reason to wail on you."

"You shut your freakin' mouth." Wade frowned. "I owe Winchester. Fuckin' narc. He's as bad as his asshole kid brother in my book. I wanna beat 'em both senseless."

"But why Braxton, man? That's hell and gone from Moseby."

Wade smirked. "Cause I'm trackin' the little bastard."

Grady looked sideways. "Yeah, right."

"I am! Remember that spy shit we stole from Bennett's science class? Man, I hated that guy."

Grady nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"So it had this GPS tracker thing. I took the kid's watch apart and stuck it inside. I know exactly where the little dick is, and he's in Braxton."

Grady's mouth fell open. "Get the hell out."

Wade grinned, pulling a device from his pocket. "I do! See?" He pushed a button and glanced down, causing the car to swerve. "Thought we might, you know, need to find him again if he ever got to talkin'."

"Shit, dude. Just let me see it before you kill us both." Grady snagged the tracker from Wade's hand. "So he's … on Washington Street?"

Wade frowned, "Ain't there no house number?"

Grady squinted, "Some middle school. It's, like, right around the corner, man. Slow down."

"Middle school." Wade nodded, looking over at Grady. "Sounds like a nice place to die."

Grady snorted. "You're fucked up, man." Then he pointed. "There."

Wade pulled quickly over to the side of the road as they watched a man approach the kid on the bench. It looked like the kid was on his phone when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The boy looked up, and that's when the woman just suddenly appeared behind him. She leaned in, and Wade swore it looked like she bit him. He heard the kid scream too. Then he just went limp and sort of slid right off the bench into the grass.

Wade and Grady stared, mouths open, as the two adults tugged the boy to his feet and dragged him over to a car, shoving him inside. They drove away, never noticing the two boys in the green Firebird.

"What the hell did I just see?" Wade turned to Grady, punching him hard on the arm, gleefully. "What the HELL did I just SEE?"

"Dude. What the hell?" Grady swallowed hard, looking sick. "She … she fuckin' bite him?"

Wade raised his eyes skyward in a motion of gratitude and glanced down at the tracking device. "Sure hope they don't take his watch, cause man! I wanna see this!"

Grady's brow furrowed, "Dude, she's a freakin' cannibal. I don't like the little shit, but that don't mean I wanna see him get eaten alive."

"Come on!" Wade's eyes were brimming with excitement. "When are you ever gonna get a chance to see somethin' like that ever again, man? You wanna watch. You know you do!" He stared at the tracking device. "They didn't go far. About 6 blocks over, looks like."

"Don't follow!" Grady yelped. "Give 'em some space. They get onto us, we'll be dessert."

Wade tried to tamp down his excitement. "Sure, man. Sure. We can wait a few." He reached down and cranked up his radio, leaning back in the seat and smiling as he pictured the coming attraction. He lost himself in the music and drifted off.

When he woke, he checked his watch to see that almost an hour had passed. He glanced over to see if it was the other boy who'd woken him, but he was brought up short by the gun barrel pressed to his temple. Gulping audibly, he glanced up into the rear view and got a glimpse of his back seat passenger. His face went chalky white.

"Been looking for you, Wade." Dean growled, low like an animal. "Tell me where you stashed my brother, or you ain't gonna like how this turns out."


	23. Lucky Break

Sam could move.

It wasn't much, but after a good three hours of immobility, even the smallest twitch felt like freedom, and he was more than a little worried.

They'd fed twice already - twice in three hours. It was an escalated rate, Sam knew. From his research, he'd learned that vetala typically only fed three times in the 21-hour time frame. After that, the victim was dead. They were taking much more of his blood at a much faster pace than usual. At this rate, he'd never last til Dean found him.

And he knew without a doubt that the older boy was looking. Argument or no, Dean was out there right now, leaving no stone unturned. If Sam knew nothing else, he knew that.

Nothing could ever shake his faith in Dean's determination once he realized Sam was in real trouble.

He lay on the couch where the monsters had placed him, experimenting, moving first his hands, then wiggling his toes inside his shoes. Feeling was coming back, and though it was all pins and needles, Sam was so grateful he wanted to cry. He turned his head a little to the right and froze.

Santos stared up at him from the floor. The man … vetala … whatever he was … lay flat on his stomach where it looked as though he'd fallen. His eyes streamed tears, and his body shivered as though in agony. The woman who Sam knew only as his guidance counselor was draped across the easy chair behind Santos.

From the eerie gray pallor of her skin and the frozen grimace on her face, Sam was pretty sure she was dead.

Santos spoke. It was barely a whisper, but in the silence, Sam heard it.

"You … you poisoned ... "

Sam blinked. Then he understood.

As creatures who were centuries old, they had little resistance to modern medicine.

His Klonopin.

Sam had taken his last dose just minutes before the vetala snatched him from the park bench. The medication only made him feel sleepy, but to them, apparently, it was poison.

He couldn't suppress a chuckle. "... Hope … it … hurts." He managed.

Santos' eyes narrowed, and he attempted to shift to his feet, but all he managed was a weak flap of one hand against the carpet.

"You … you'll pay." The man threatened impotently, his eyes closing.

Sam lay silent as darkness fell around the outside edges of the old house, and he willed himself to move.

But his drained and defeated body refused to respond.

###

Wade's voice shook a bit as he grinned nervously at Dean in the rear view. "We ain't got your kid, Winchester. You crazy?"

Dean's face was expressionless, some might call it cold and dead. He cocked the weapon, pressing it to Wade's temple. "Yep."

"Shit, man! I'm tellin' the truth!"

Dean was silent, letting the boy hang himself out to dry.

"Seriously, man! Listen, we saw the whole thing!"

"Where. Is. Sam." It was more statement than question.

"They took him, man. There were two of them, a man and a woman, right Grady?" Wade glanced over to the frightened boy in the passenger seat.

Grady nodded frantically. "Yeah. Two! There were two! Man and a woman. The woman, she bit him, I think. He just screamed and slid off the bench, man. Went limp."

Dean digested the information, reaching a sad conclusion.

"So you saw it happen, and you didn't help." He twined his fingers into Wade's greasy locks and tugged the boy's head back hard, pinning it to the headrest. You saw two monsters attack a 12-year-old kid, and you did nothing but watch. I should get my knife right now, Wade. Let you see what that feels like."

"N-no!"

"Give me one reason." Dean toyed.

"Shit, Dean!" Wade pleaded. "Just ease up, man." He tried to swallow, but his head was pulled back almost too far. He gulped loudly. "J-just ease up!"

"Like you eased up on Sam? Like you both eased up on him with fucking metal poles? Like that, Wade?"

"I can h-help you … find him."

"You're lying."

"No! I can. I swear! The kid wears a watch, right? That black watch with all the dials on it and shit."

Dean paused, recognizing the description of the watch he'd given Sam for Christmas two years back.

"I … I took it apart, man. Put a tracker inside. I'm tracking him right now! I swear! Look!" He held the tracking device out, low to the seat.

But Dean wasn't drawn in.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of the car. Did I stutter?"

Wade exchanged a worried glance with Grady. "Why? What … what are you going to do?"

"What I shoulda done weeks ago, asshole."

Wade gulped, "Dean … listen …" He began.

But Dean was done listening. In one swift move, he brought the butt of his gun down on Wade's head, stilling him instantly. Then he turned his attention to Grady.

"Help me get him in the trunk."

###

John opened his eyes slowly because, apparently, they had lead weights attached. It took everything he had to make his body obey the commands his brain was trying to send it.

But Dean … Dean needed him. And Sam. Something had happened to Sam. John remembered Dean's frantic pleading, and he felt a jolt down deep in his gut.

His boys were in trouble.

John tried to pull his addled thoughts together long enough to make sense of what was happening, but damn, he felt like hammered shit. He fell forward in the seat of the old truck, one cheek pressed against the cool leather and sighed. Just … just a few more minutes. He needed just a few more minutes, and then he'd be good to go.

###

Dean held the tracking device in his hand, worried. After apparently being still for hours, it appeared Sam's watch was on the move again, and Dean's eyes followed along as he drove slowly along the block toward his brother.

The old Impala rumbled under the additional weight in its cargo hold. Dean had tossed both boys in the trunk - one unconscious, the other scared shitless. When he had time, he'd deal with them, but for now, Sam.

Dean glanced at the tracking device again and frowned. Pulling to the curb, he opened the door and stepped out. According to the thing's GPS, Sam should be coming toward him right now. He watched and waited for the oncoming car that would herald the boy's arrival. What he didn't expect was to see Sammy himself staggering down the street, confused, stumbling. The kid slunk along the privacy fence that backed up to the street, trying and failing to stay on his feet. As he stumbled again, falling to his knees, Dean was over the hood and beside him.

"Sammy! Thank God!" He pulled the confused boy close. "What happened? How'd you get away, hmm?" He tilted the kid's chin up and studied his eyes. Sam was out of it for sure.

"Sammy? Can you answer me, man? What happened? Are they after you?" Dean searched his brother for injuries.

Sam stared, unable to believe this was Dean. He knew the older boy would be looking, but he hadn't expected to walk right into him. "Mmm … okay. N-not coming." His head fell forward onto Dean's shoulder. His body still wasn't completely his own. It worked only sporadically at best, but it had gotten him off that filthy couch and out onto the street at least.

Dean hugged the boy tightly, afraid to let go lest Sam disappear again. "They're not coming? You killed them?" He scooped Sam up and carried him gently to the car. Placing him on the front passenger seat, Dean apologized. "Sorry, Sammy. Got Dad in the back." He informed the kid, shooting a glance toward their still-unconscious father. Dean climbed behind the wheel, idled away from the curb and drove away in the direction from which his brother had come. "Can you show me, Sam? Show me where those bastards took you, and I'll make sure they never hurt you again."


	24. S My Brother Said

Sam sat huddled in the front passenger seat of the old Impala, watching his father and brother cautiously creep up to the house from which he'd just made his escape. Each clutched a silver knife held cautiously down and back as he scuttled silently forward. John slipped unobtrusively in through the front door, and Sam watched as Dean scooted around back.

He leaned back gratefully against the headrest, thankful for the heated comfort of the car. He was still a bit dizzy, his joints stiff and aching. But as time stretched on, and his family didn't emerge from the house, Sam felt a niggle of concern. He hadn't searched the rest of the house before staggering out into the street. And while he was sure Santos and the woman were dead, Sam suddenly realized there could be more monsters lurking in the darkness.

Maybe he'd just sent Dean and his father on a suicide mission.

Sam tried to push the panic back down and stow it away, tried telling himself that Dean and John together were perfectly capable of neutralizing nearly any threat that materialized.

But suddenly, he couldn't make himself believe it. Sam knew he was far from being in top form at the moment, between the seizures that could overtake him at any time, the blood loss and the abuse his body had suffered over the last few days, he was far from primed and ready.

But what if Dean and his dad were in trouble? They should have been back by now.

What if they needed help?

Sam leaned forward and shut off the engine, slipping the keys from the ignition. He stepped carefully from the car and made his way to the trunk. He'd need the third silver knife that Dad kept stowed under the false bottom in the trunk.

Sam took a deep breath and slipped the key into the keyhole, twisting it a half turn. He stepped back in surprise when the trunk lid shot up with a whoosh and a pair of booted feet caught him squarely in the chest.

###

John looked up from where he knelt before the music teacher.

"Dead."

Dean nodded, taking his hand from the woman's neck. "No pulse here either."

John studied the pair. "Sam did this?"

Dean bit his lip. "He must have. How else did he get out?"

John shook his head. "I don't see how. Boy's in rough shape. He can barely walk."

"No wounds either" Dean noted.

John's forehead crinkled. "I'll secure the rest of the house. You can get these two in the trunk by yourself?"

Dean faltered, remembering. "Uh, yeah, about that …"

"What?"

"Trunk's kinda full at the moment."

John stood, "Full? Of what?"

"He means full of us." Wade's voice startled them both from the doorway. He stood just inside the door, a dazed Sam clutched to his chest, a silver knife to the boy's throat.

Dean turned. He saw. He took a step forward, enraged.

"Uh, uh, uh Deano." Wade smiled, "Don't give me a reason. You know how much I hate this little fucker. Drop the knives, both of you."

Dean froze, his eyes meeting Sam's. "It's okay, Sammy. It's gonna be fine."

Wade laughed at that - a cold sound that went right to Dean's heart. "Not so much there, _Sammy_." He emphasized the nickname that he knew the kid hated hearing from anyone but his big brother. "Everything is far from okay. At least for you."

John spoke up, his words aimed at Wade. "Listen son. I don't know who you are, but it's not too late to walk away from this. Let Sam go, and no one will follow you. You have my word."

Wade snarled. "I'm not your son, asshole!" He informed the older man. "But I gotta tell you, I ain't too impressed with either one of your idiot kids. That one …" He gestured toward Dean, "Tied us up and left us in the trunk of that shitty car to die. And this one," He tightened his arm around Sam's throat, drawing a whimper of pain from the younger boy, "Well, he's just a major pain in my ass. It's gonna feel real good, gutting this one." He grinned maniacally.

Dean took a step forward at the sound of Sam's distress, eyes shooting daggers. "I swear to God, Wade, you touch one hair on his head and …"

But Wade cut him off. "And you'll what, Dean? You won't do shit. Cause if you do, this blade here goes right in the side of his neck. You know I'll do it." He poked the tip of the blade into Sam's skin, drawing a thin trickle of blood down his already ravaged neck, pulling an unintentional sob from the boy.

Dean's eyes narrowed, and he wondered how he could ever have voluntarily spent any time at all with this psycho. "Don't!" He threatened. "Don't you fucking touch him, Wade. I mean it." His eyes flicked helplessly to Sam's. "Just hang on, Sammy. Hang in there for me, okay?" he pleaded.

"Grady?" Wade yelled, "Get in here!"

"Shit, Wade. You ain't gotta yell. I'm right here." Grady piped up.

"You get 'em?"

"Yeah. Like, six pairs, man."

Wade's eyes grew big, and he grinned. "Six pairs of handcuffs in the trunk, Deano? You kinky sonofabitch." He motioned everyone toward the kitchen. "In there. Let's go."

John and Dean traded glances as they turned to make their way to the kitchen, but Wade wasn't taking any chances. He stood in the arch, Sam held firmly in his grasp as he motioned to Dean. "Get the cuffs on him." He said, meaning John. "Two pair. One on each hand and each hand cuffed to the chair. And if they ain't nice and tight when I check 'em, little Sammy here pays the piper."

Grady stepped forward to hand Dean the cuffs, but Wade stopped him. "Just toss 'em. Don't get close." He instructed.

John sat quietly down in the wooden kitchen chair and allowed Dean to cuff his hands to the chair's legs.

"Now you." Wade instructed. "Sit down there and put the cuff on. Cuff yourself to the leg, just like you did your old man. Grady'll do the second one, and if you try anything at all, I'm make him scream." Wade tightened his arm around Sam's throat, making the boy gasp as his airway was compromised.

"I'll do it!" Dean snarled. "Just let him breathe."

But Wade only laughed. "Hurry then. He don't get air til both hands are cuffed."

Dean sat quickly down and fumbled with the cuffs that Grady tossed him. He got one around his arm and the other fastened to the chair in record time. He looked up to see Sam turning blue. "I got it! Let him go!"

Wade gestured to Grady. "Get his other one done."

Dean watched helplessly as Grady fumbled with the other cuff. The boy was too stupid to understand how they worked, and Dean was beginning to panic before Grady had him immobilized.

"Let him breathe!" He shouted, as Sam's knees began to buckle. "Sammy!"

But Wade just chuckled. He loosened the pressure on Sam's neck and let the boy fall to his knees. He dragged a third chair across the room and manhandled Sam into it. His brother was out of it, Dean could tell. The kid's eyes were frozen at half-mast, and he couldn't keep himself in the chair.

"Shit. Kid won't sit up." Wade swore. He glanced around the room and motioned to Grady. "Bring me the high-backed one. That'll work."

"He can't sit up because you choked him out." John said, calmly. "You're gonna wish you hadn't done that, son."

Wade just shook his head and transferred Sam's lifeless body to the taller chair. "Hold him." He barked at Grady. Standing up, he unbuckled his belt and whisked it through the loops. Looping it around Sam's neck, he pulled it tight to the chair back, forming a sort of seat belt, only across Sam's airway instead of across his lap. "There." He said, stepping back. "That should hold him. Now you can cuff him." He instructed Grady.

Grady moved in with the cuffs and restrained the youngest Winchester just as he had the two older ones. When they were done, the two boys stepped back and looked over their handiwork. Wade grinned.

"Three Winchesters. Took 'em out just like that. You all are pansies." He snorted, directing his remarks to John. "You're just as much of a schmuck as your pain-in-the-ass kids, Daddy. What do you think of that, hmm?"

But John just smiled calmly back at the boy, refusing to be baited.

"You're gonna wish you'd stayed far away from here, Wade." Dean warned, his voice calm. "You are so fucked, and you don't even know it."

Wade cackled.

"Uh, so what now?" Grady asked, unnerved by both Winchester's calm exteriors.

"Now we play, 'Shitty things my brother said.'" Wade replied, looking right at Dean. "Move him over here. I want him knee-to-knee with his piss-ant brother."

Grady dragged Sam's chair across the floor until he was across from Dean, touching knees. Wade moved to kneel behind Sam's chair and grabbed the boy by the hair, slapping him roughly in the face.

Dean growled, and jerked forward. "You asshole. I said leave him alone!"

"I'd play nice, Dean, if I were you." Wade informed him. We're just gonna play a little word game is all, but I need little Sammy to be wide awake for the fun."

"I don't know what you think …" Dean started, but Wade cut him off.

"I think you're gonna come clean to Sammy about how you really feel about him."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What the hell you talking about, Wade?"

"You know, we've been hangin' a while, Dean. You and me. You smoked a lot. You talked a lot too. Or did you forget?"

Dean felt the beginnings of real fear. He glanced guiltily at Sam's face and found the younger boy staring straight back at him. The look in Sam's eyes …" Dean tried desperately to remember anything he might have said while under the influence.

"I don't know what you think you're gonna get me to admit to." Dean sniped. "Sam knows how I feel about him."

"Okay, Deano. Here's the rules. I'm gonna make a statement, and you're gonna admit that you said it. If you don't, Sammy here gets one notch on the belt."

Dean saw then that the belt around Sam's neck was braided, meaning it could be fastened anywhere along its length. Wade pulled the belt tight, until there was no give, and Sam's head was forced against the back of the chair.

"You lie? I tightened the belt a single notch." Wade grinned as the realization of what was about to happen dawned on Dean's face.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean caught his brother's eyes. "I got you. You know I got you. It doesn't matter what he makes me say."

Sam could only blink in reply. The belt was pulled too tight to allow him to nod.

"Let the games begin." Wade cackled.


	25. The Game

"Hey Sammy?" Wade asked gently, looking straight into his eyes. "Did you know that sometimes Dean wants to just drive away from you and not look back?"

Sam stared the bastard down, knowing that Wade was playing a game. He was going to make Dean say things that Dean didn't mean.

It was no big deal. Sam knew the truth. He stared steadily back at Wade, giving him not a hint of emotion.

Wade grinned, turning toward Dean. "Well? Did you say it or didn't you?"

Dean glared, remained silent, and Wade nodded to Grady who slipped the belt out of its notch and advanced it another space. Sam gritted his teeth and swallowed. The belt was … uncomfortable, but not so tight that he couldn't breathe.

"You sonofabitch. I'm gonna kill you." Dean seethed.

But Wade just grinned wider. He leaned into Dean and whispered conspiratorially, "You gotta catch me first, asshole."

Wade shifted back toward Sam. "Hey Sammy, did you know that Dean once pointed you out to us, and we all made fun of those flood pants and little-boy jacket you wear? Dean laughed the loudest."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, like that ever happened."

Sam ignored Wade's words and focused on Dean, drawing his strength from the older boy. Dean stared him straight in the eye, offering him as much comfort as he could from feet away. Dean smiled that smile that Sam knew was reserved especially for him, and in his heart, Sam knew his brother would never do or say the cruel things that Wade was implying.

"Yeah, you got me on that one, Deano. Never happened." He winked at Grady. "At least not when Dean was around, right Grady?"

Grady snorted, and Sam felt his face flush pink.

"Sammy …" Dean said gently, "don't let …"

"Shut up!" Wade barked. "Now where was I? Oh yeah, I know." The boy moved to stand behind Sam and looked directly at Dean. "Hey Sammy, did you know that Dean sometimes dreams about dropping you off at Bobby's house and leaving you there forever?"

Sam's eyes shot wide at that because there was no way Wade could know about Bobby unless Dean had told him. His eyes shot to his brother, and he could tell … Sam COULD TELL … that what Wade said was true. He swallowed back tears.

Dean's eyes met his guiltily, "Sammy … listen to me. It … it wasn't like that, okay? It …"

"Wrong answer!" Wade crowed, and he yanked viciously on the belt.

Sam felt his windpipe constricting, he could barely take a breath, and he felt himself beginning to panic. His eyes searched for Dean as he struggled to calm himself down.

"Sammy! Sam! Calm down. You hear me?" Dean begged. Sam's face was blood red and tears streamed from his eyes. He panted, trying to catch a breath that wasn't there, and Dean feared the kid would hyperventilate and pass out against the confines of the belt. If his head tipped forward …

"Stop this!" Dean begged. "You've made your freakin' point, okay? Whatever it is you're trying to prove. You've proved it. Now let him go!"

But Wade just stepped back to admire his handy work. "Damn! That's a nice shade of red, hoss!" He celebrated.

"Hey Sammy," He knelt at Sam's feet, stared into his face.

"Stop this!" Dean shouted.

"Shut the fuck up!" Wade replied.

"Sammy, did you know that sometimes Dean wishes that he was the one who died in the fire? Him instead of Mommy? Mostly that's because of you, you know. You ruined his life, kid."

Sam's eyes closed, unable to look at his brother. It was true. Dean had … had said these things. He'd really said them. In the distance, Sam could hear his brother calling his name, pleading with him that he hadn't meant it, but consciousness was fast eluding him. He felt the belt tug tighter, and then Sam could hardly get any air at all. His neck hurt - felt like it was caving in - when Wade dealt his final blow.

"Hey Sam-my," He said in a song-song voice. "Did you know that Dean wishes you'd died during that last wendigo hunt? Hunh? He does! He wishes you were dead, Sammy. How's that feel?"

"Sam! I swear to God, I never said that! I would never say that!" Dean exploded. "I … I might have … I must have talked about the wendigo, but I don't remember it, Sammy! And I never, ever would have wished that Sam. You have to believe me!"

But Sam was too busy trying to collect all the pieces of his shattered heart to hear his brother. He was going to die here, surrounded by mold and flies and dead vetala. He was going to die knowing how much Dean hated him, how he no longer wanted him around, how Dean had … had wished himself dead because of the stress of having Sam around all the time .. how he'd wished Sam dead.

It was okay. Sam thought he probably wanted to die now anyway - die and go on to someplace better where pain like this didn't exist. He choked once as the belt jerked impossibly tighter, and the last sound he heard as he let go was his older brother - the biggest and brightest light in his life until today - sobbing his apologies.


	26. Aftermath

Sam awoke in a heap of splintered wood, laid out flat on the musty linoleum of the old farm house. There was weight on top of him, crushing him. And then it was gone and Dean was there, huddled over him, the older boy taking the brunt of the flaming debris that fell all around them.

Dean lay stretched across him, shielding Sam's head and chest, his arms protecting his younger brother's head.

"What's? What …?" Sam asked, confused. The noise was deafening. Sam thought he heard gunfire, then grunts and screams of pain. And over it all, a roar that just grew louder and more insistent. "What's … Dean …?"

"It's okay. Just stay still, Sammy. I got you." Dean's body shuddered as part of the ceiling came down on his back.

"Dean!"

"It's okay, Sam. I'm … I'm okay, but we have to go … now! Can you walk?"

"I … yeah. What … what happened?" Sam struggled to lift his hands, but they were still shackled to the shattered remains of the chair.

"Bobby and Caleb." Dean said shortly.

"What's going on?" Sam all but sobbed. He could see fire all around them, smoke making it hard to breathe.

"Wade set it on fire." Dean explained, "What's wrong?" He suddenly realized that Sam wasn't moving.

"My hands! I can't … I'm not free! Dean!" Sam screamed as another piece of the ceiling rained down on his brother's back. Sam heard a whuff and a grunt.

"I'm … it's okay. Come on!" Dean buried his fists in his brother's shirt and hauled him to his feet. Sam brought large pieces of the broken chair with him, limiting his movement.

The boys huddled together in the middle of the inferno, searching for a path that was clear of the fire.

"Dean!" Sam was terrified. "It's all around us!"

But Dean saw an opening. It was so small, it was nearly non-existent, but he shoved Sam into and through it, and then they were standing on the lawn, slapping at the small fires that made their sleeves smoke. Dean fell to his knees, coughing, eyes streaming. "Sammy? You okay?"

Sam nodded. "Where's Dad? Dean? Where's Dad!"

Dean coughed. "I d-don't know."

"He got out, didn't he?" Sam swiveled on the lawn, seeing not a trace of the rest of his family. "We have to go back!" He shouted, and darted back up onto the porch.

"Sam!" Dean screamed, making a wild swipe at his brother's leg and missing. "Don't! It's too late!"

"Dean! Dad's in there!" Sam screamed. He held up one shackled arm to shield his mouth and nose and fought to re-enter the inferno, but the fire was too far gone. "Dean!" Sam sobbed. "We … we can't …!"

Dean was on his feet and running toward his brother. "We can't Sam! It's too late! Maybe he got out! I don't know!" He hit Sam in a flying tackle, and the two boys rolled across the cold grass that was still wet from the dew.

They landed with Sam on the bottom. He stared up at his brother and sobbed. "Dean! Dad!"

Dean's eyes watered as he stared down at his brother. "It's okay, Sammy." He said, half-sobbing himself. He pulled the younger boy tight against him, burying a hand in his hair. "It's gonna be okay. I promise."

Dean held the boy as he cried, his eyes staring up at the fully-engulfed house. He hugged his brother tight. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I got you."

###

Dean tugged them both into the bushes as the fire trucks began pulling up. He was sure Sam was in shock. The kid hadn't spoken another word once his crying jag had ended. He fumbled with the slats of wood that were still attached to both of their hands until he had them free enough that he could drive and Sam could be comfortable. Then he pointed the boy in the direction of the Impala.

"Rendezvous point, Sam." He said. "If anybody made it out … they'll be at the motel, waiting. We gotta go."

Sam let himself be led along docilely, climbing quietly inside the car when Dean beckoned. Dean shot him a concerned glance as he rolled away from the curb and the chaos, slipping away from the scene unnoticed.

They were halfway back to the room John had rented when Sam spoke up, his voice subdued. "What happened?"

Dean swallowed, knowing the question was coming. "He … uh … he choked you out, Sammy. I thought he'd … he'd killed you. I couldn't move. Couldn't even freaking breathe. Dad kept his wits about him though. He got loose and stabbed Grady with the silver knife. He dove straight for Grady because he was closest, I guess. But Wade made it into the other room. He set the place on fire, and then Bobby and Caleb were there and someone had a gun, but by that time, the whole house was going up, and I was still cuffed to that damned chair, and I thought you …" Dean's voice choked off, and it was some minutes before he could continue. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, when the ceiling started coming down, there was a beam and it fell on you. I got it off and then that's when I knew you were still with me." Dean turned his head to the window, and Sam could see his throat working as he struggled to get his emotions in check.

"Maybe they got out. I don't know. They all chased Wade into the other room, and that's when it all went to shit."

Sam turned hopeful eyes to Dean. "You think so? You think there's a chance?" He asked, voice choking up.

Dean nodded. "I do, Sammy. I really do."

Sam was quiet, then, "How did Bobby and Caleb find us?"

"I called 'em." Dean answered sadly. "When we pulled up to the house, I called Bobby. If they didn't make it out … it's … that's on me."

"But why were they even here?"

Dean sighed. "When I finally listened to those last messages, and I realized Dad had … had used you as bait, Sammy, I … I just … went kinda crazy." He turned to look at his brother. "It was supposed to be me, not you. Dad only made you do it because I took off like that."

Sam stared at his brother sadly. Dean was so broken up. This whole ordeal had been hard on them all, but it had been probably been hardest on Dean.

"I called your phone, and some kid from your class answered. Told me he found your phone under some bench. Said your … your ball was there, and there was blood. I thought you were dead, Sam." Dean looked over, broken.

"Twice in one day, you know? I thought you were dead."


	27. Distressing News

Sam sat on the edge of the bed in the motel room John had rented. He watched the reunion with confused feelings, mostly of intense relief. They hadn't made it out of the Impala before John was out of the room and embracing Dean in a bear hug.

"You're alive! Thank God!" Sam heard John breathe. But when Sam moved forward to claim his own embrace from his father, he was met with a nod and a look of ill-concealed disappointment.

"Sam." John said, coldly. "Good to see you."

Sam stopped, stunned, hurt eyes flicking to Dean then back to their father. Dean looked just as stunned by John's reaction as Sam was. The older boy opened his mouth to interject, but Bobby suddenly stepped forward and wrapped Sam up in his own back-thumping hug, and while Sam couldn't see it, he could almost feel the anger that the old hunter directed toward John Winchester.

"Dean, man!" Caleb grinned, stepping forward and clasping Dean's hand enthusiastically. "I see you're even too ornery for death to want." he teased.

Dean smiled accordingly, trying to focus on the words that his old friend directed toward him, but his eyes were on Sam's. He swallowed hard and turned toward Caleb, "Good to see you too, man." He thumped the older boy on the back.

Caleb reached out and ruffled Sam's hair, "Damned good to see you there, Sammy. You took a few years off our lives, you know." he mentioned, good-naturedly.

But John had taken the remark and run with it. "Sam's sorry about that. Aren't you, Sam?" He replied, his voice gruff, eyes pinning Sam to the wall.

"Uh, y-yeah. Sorry." Sam replied, unsure of why he was apologizing.

"And nothing like this is ever going to happen again, right?"

Sam stared, his mouth open. He was unsure of what his father wanted him to say.

"Sam? I asked you a question."

Standing next to Sam, Bobby took an angry breath. "Lighten up, John. Your boys almost just died, in case you hadn't noticed."

But John's eyes stayed fixed on Sam's. "Yeah. I noticed." He said shortly, turning and wrapping an arm around Dean. He pulled the older boy to him affectionately and steered him toward the room.

"You need a shower." He noted, turning a head toward Caleb. "Caleb, how about you order us up a few pizzas in celebration?"

Caleb grinned and moved ahead of them into the motel room. "Deep dish or brick oven?" He quipped, laughing.

Sam heard Bobby clear his throat beside him. "Idiot." he breathed quietly under his breath. But Sam heard him and smiled sadly. "It's okay, Bobby. I should have expected it. It was stupid of me to get taken."

Bobby sucked in a breath. "It was no such thing, Sam. And you can stop that nonsense right now. If anyone is to blame for this shit storm, it's your old man; you hear me?"

Sam nodded, snorting sadly. "Yeah." he said. "I hear you, Bobby. Thanks."

But it was clear to the older man that the kid didn't believe it."

###

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by the people he called family and feeling utterly, utterly alone. He sniffed quietly, determined not to cry. When Dean emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and preceded by a billow of steam, Sam stood up. Making his way quietly to his brother, he moved around behind him, sucking in a breath.

"You're burned, Dean." The younger boy said, concerned.

Dean turned guilty eyes toward his brother. "It's okay, Sammy. It doesn't hurt." Dean eyed him worriedly, "Listen Sammy. About Dad …"

But Sam cut him off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter, Dean. I screwed up. I deserved it. I c-could have gotten you all killed." He said, nodding to the bed, "Sit down. Let me fix you up."

"That's bullshit and you know it." Dean replied softly. "NONE … none of this was your fault, Sam. None of it." He moved, unprotesting, to the bed and sank gratefully down on the edge as Sam brought the first aid kit.

Sam shrugged. "It's okay. Hold on. Let me go wash and disinfect my hands, and then I'll put the burn cream on, okay? You wanna go to the hospital?"

Dean snorted, "Nah, Sammy. You'll do, kiddo. Fix me up good, okay?"

Sam smiled the first real smile he'd given in days. "Be right back." He said, heading to the bathroom. He was quick about washing up, anxious to have a real purpose, but when he was done and opened the door to return to his brother's side, he saw Caleb sitting behind Dean on the bed, rubbing burn ointment gently around the worst of the boy's injuries. Dean looked up and met Sam's eyes guiltily, and pleaded silently for his little brother to understand.

Sam swallowed hard and pushed back the tears that wanted so desperately to emerge. He nodded almost imperceptibly at Dean, and smiled when the older boy shot him a grateful look. But then John shifted behind Dean, drawing Sam's attention, and the smile died on his face.

John stood with his arms crossed and his face hard. He glared at Sam accusingly, and Sam suddenly realized that his father laid Dean's injuries smack at his own feet. He turned quickly and moved back into the bath, clicking the door shut behind him. Snicking the lock, he slid silently down the door and let the tears come.

###

Sam woke early, wrestled into the dim light of early morning by the sound of conflict. Dean's voice and his dad's voice warred in hushed octaves.

" … of extra hours training." John was saying. "And I mean triple-time. Don't you dare go easy on him."

"I won't do it. None of this was his fault, Dad." Dean was angry. Sam could tell.

"He almost got all of us killed, Dean. All of us, himself included." John volleyed.

"It wasn't Sam's idea to play bait." Dean barked. "That was all you."

"It wasn't my idea to disappear for weeks on end, Dean." John returned calmly. "That's on you."

Silence.

Sam could almost see the look of guilt that would be flashing across Dean's face at his father's cruel words. It was all he could take. Sitting up, Sam yawned noisily, pretending to have heard nothing.

"Good morning." he said, hesitant.

But Dean's grin was blinding. "Morning, Sammy." he said, standing and handing Sam a steaming cup. "Got cold pizza and coffee."

Sam took the cup and nodded gratefully. "Ugh." He said. "You can keep the cold pizza."

Dean looked forlorn. "No way we're related, dude."

Sam smiled. "How's your back?" He asked, concerned. But before Dean could reply, John cut in.

"Your brother has second-degree burns from the fire, Sam. His back's a mess."

Sam froze, stricken, the coffee in his hand suddenly weighing more than it should. His eyes traveled upward and caught Dean's angry grimace. "I'm FINE, Sam. It's all good." Dean turned his head and shot his father daggers.

But John didn't take the hint. "You're not fine, Dean." He argued, moving to stand before Sam and glaring down at him angrily. "Your brother and I were just discussing your punishment, Sam."

Sam went pale, remembering the last punishment his father had ordered and Dean had doled out. "M-my punishment?" He squeaked.

Dean cut in. "There's not going to be any punishment, Sam." He interrupted his father. "Right, Dad?"

But John just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam. But what happened last night can never happen again. You almost got five people killed. Five people, Sam! Yourself included."

"That wasn't Sam's …" Dean started, but John held up a hand, silencing the older boy.

"I don't want to hear even one more time how none of this was Sam's fault. He knew he was on a mission. He let himself get distracted. He didn't watch his back. He didn't watch MY back." He turned disappointed eyes on his youngest. "It's the second verse, same as the first, Sam. You just don't learn."

Sam tried to defend himself. "Dad … I …"

But John was having none of it. "You heard me, Sam. Not right now, of course. Your body needs time to heal. But as soon as you're able, it's triple-training for you. That will help harden you up and give you less time to get yourself into trouble." He reached for his jacket. "I'm gonna go talk with Bobby and Caleb before they take off." He explained. "Drink your coffee and be ready to move in an hour."


	28. The Deal

Dean gritted his teeth and called upon resources he never knew he had to keep his mouth closed. Dad was on and on about Sam again, and the kid was sitting right there.

The older boy simply shook his head.

John took exception. "What's that supposed to mean, Dean? Do you have something you want to say?" the oldest Winchester barked.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I could say plenty. You wouldn't like any of it."

John sat back in the diner booth, a jaded smile forming. "Well don't pull any punches then. I'm a big boy. I can take it."

Dean could feel Sam sneaking worried glances from beside him, could feel the kid's fist clenching and unclenching against his leg. He shot the younger boy a look, his heart twisting at the look of fear and worry that painted the kid's face.

It had been a whole day and a half since the fire that had almost killed them all, and the only thing Dad could talk about was how much shit Sam was in once he healed. Even Bobby and Caleb were worried, Dean could tell. The two hunters lingered over breakfast in the booth behind them, and Dean knew it was because they were reluctant to leave with John on his tear. They'd been poised to head back that next morning, but once they'd caught wind of Sam's upcoming "punishment," they'd stuck fast to the small family.

It was a relief to Dean and a thorn in John's side. But Dean had no idea how Sam felt about the whole thing.

The kid hadn't uttered two words since the whole deal had gone down. He caught the younger boy's eye and shot him a reassuring smile, but even that didn't go unpunished.

"You two can sneak around and conspire all you want." John glared, pinning Sam with a cold stare. "But you'll do what I say when I say it, or else." He nodded at his youngest. "You might be able to whine your way around your brother, but it won't work on me."

Sam flushed, embarrassed, and put his head down. He stirred his coffee with a shaking hand and remained silent, but Dean saw.

He saw, and he seethed at the unfairness of it all. Sam hadn't said a thing in days, let alone whine. Dean said as much, and then the whole thing escalated into John yanking Dean out of the booth by his jacket, dragging him outside and giving him a good talking to.

Bobby followed the pair out into the parking lot, and Sam sat looking on in misery. Caleb slid into the booth across from him and tried to offer what little comfort he could.

"Family." The hunter offered, snorting. "Can't live with 'em. Can't salt and burn 'em." He took a sip of coffee, offering Sam a sympathetic look.

But all Sam could see was his father and brother, who were normally thick as thieves, at odds, and he felt his heart sink.

Dad was everything to Dean. He'd been the older boy's hero for as long as Sam could remember. And he realized that Dean would never last without Dad's approval.

It sucked, but Sam knew what he had to do.

###

"Dean, I need a few minutes alone with Dad." Sam blurted out into the awkward silence that was the norm inside their seedy motel room these days.

Both of the older Winchesters looked up in surprise at Sam's confession. John, from writing in his journal, and Dean, from his current copy of Busty Asian Beauties.

"What for?" his brother asked suspiciously, guard up.

"It's … private." Sam replied, not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean sat up, suddenly knowing that whatever was about to transpire, it wouldn't be good.

"Sammy …" he started, ready to wade in swinging.

But the pleading tone in Sam's voice, and the resigned look on his face, stopped the older boy.

"Dean, please?" Sam begged. "Just … I need to talk to Dad. Alone."

Dean's eyes flitted between his brother and his father, worried.

John nodded reassuringly. "Go on, Dean. You heard your brother." He fished two twenties out of his wallet and placed them on the table. "Give us two hours. Take the car, and go grab us some dinner, okay?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea." He turned to his brother. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me, Sam." He offered.

But Sam shook his head. "Not this time, Dean, okay?" He turned beseeching eyes to his brother. "Just let me do this, please."

If Dean was worried before Sam's confession, it was nothing compared to the sudden spike of fear that pulsated through him with that statement. He stood up, suddenly terrified. "Do what, Sam? What are you talking about?"

"Dean." John's voice left no room for debate. "You heard your brother. Take the money and go. Now."

Dean looked from Sam to John and back to Sam again. He moved toward the table reluctantly, snagging his jacket on the way.

"Sam, whatever you're planning, you better damned well talk to me about it first. You hear me?"

But Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. He only nodded, looking down at the floor.

Dean slipped the bills into his pocket and moved to stand by the door. "Sammy? You hearin' me?" He asked, determined.

But then Sam glanced up and met his brother's eyes, and he looked just like he always had. He even shot Dean a smile - the first one in days. "It's cool, Dean. Honest. I just need to talk to Dad about my … my p-punishment. That's all."

Dean was somewhat placated, though he had no intention of letting Sam take any more grief for what had happened. He nodded. "Okay, Sammy. If you say so." He offered back that special smile that was reserved for Sam alone, and placed a hand on the door knob. "I'll be back in two hours sharp, okay?" He added, giving his brother a final chance to change his mind.

But Sam only nodded. Two hours should be more than enough to do what he had to do. He stood suddenly and moved to stand in front of the brother he'd idolized since he was four years old.

"Thanks, Dean." He said, meaning it. He pulled the older boy into a sudden embrace that surprised them both.

Dean hugged him back, startled, "Sammy, what's …"

But Sam pulled back then, grinning. "Go on, jerk. Get us some food. And it better not be all greasy burgers either."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, grinning back at the kid. "You'll eat what I bring you, bitch." He added, snorting, relieved to see the sudden reappearance of the kid brother he knew and loved.

Dean slipped out the door, and Sam heard the old Impala rumble to life. He watched through the crack in the curtain as the car pulled away from the motel and idled away. Sighing, he turned to his father.

"Dad, I … I have a proposition for you."


	29. Making Good

Sam sat silent on the edge of the bed as his father made the phone calls. It didn't take long.

The Winchester family was famous throughout the hunting community, mostly for John's exploits, but lately, Dean had been carving out his own reputation as a badass killer of everything evil.

Every hunter knew the value of the Winchester boys. And even if the youngest was only 12 years old, he'd been raised hard, a veteran of the hunter's life and a formidable foe to everything from vampires to ghouls.

Sam's life held a high value among hunters, which was why John was able to cement a deal so quickly.

He hung up the phone after his third call and turned to smile at Sam. "It's all set, son." He said, placing a proud hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, you know. This thing you're doing, I know it's hard, Sam. But you're putting the good of this family, the good of your brother, ahead of yourself, and that's something a true Winchester would do."

Sam nodded through the tears he refused to release as John continued.

"You remember Gary Grey? He has a boy about your age. We did a hunt with them down in Abilene a few years back? The poltergeist?"

Sam reached back in his memory, coming up with an image of a wiry guy with glasses and a kid that was a year or two older than himself. They'd seemed like a nice enough family. He nodded.

John smiled. "That's where you're going, Sam. They're good people. Gary's happy to get you. He'll treat you good. I've known him for years."

Sam just nodded, unable to speak. This was really happening. Even though it was his idea, Sam hadn't been sure Dad would really be on board with … with … selling him like this. Apparently, Sam had worried for nothing. The second Dad had realized what Sam was proposing, he'd lit up like a Christmas tree.

John looked around the room. "You got everything you need?" He asked, practically rubbing his hands together, Sam thought.

"Yeah, I'm good. I just n-need bus fare, I guess."

John nodded, smiling. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a credit card. "This one's legit, so you don't have to worry about using it, okay?" He said, handing it to the boy.

Sam took it, glancing once at the fake name. "Riley Winters?"

John nodded. "Applied for it myself a month or so back. It's got a $5,000 limit, and I've not used it yet, so it should last you for awhile. Get anything you need on it within a month, okay? Then toss it. You have your phone?"

Sam nodded.

John held out his hand, "I think you should leave that with me, son." He said.

Sam's eyes widened. "But what if something happens?" He asked, suddenly scared, "How will I …?"

John cut him off. "Gary knows how to get in touch with me if you need anything, Sam. Nothing's going to happen."

Sam nodded, suddenly remembering that this had been his idea. He fished his phone from his backpack and handed it to his father.

John handed him an address. "Now remember. The bus station is just behind us, a few blocks away. I'm counting on you not to let Bobby or Caleb see you go. You got it?" John asked. "That would just complicate things."

Sam nodded again, understanding. No one could know about this. No one but John and himself. If Bobby or Caleb or … or Dean knew what he and his father were planning, they'd never allow it. Sam had known that from the beginning.

It would be better this way. It would, Sam told himself. This way, Dean would have Dad and Dad would have Dean, and the older boy would be free of his burden.

Dean could have a life now.

Sam tried not to focus on the fact that the life Dean would have would no longer include him. He refused to let his father see him cry.

Sam stowed the credit card away in his wallet and hiked his bag up on his shoulder. He stepped toward the door and looked back once.

John offered his hand, and Sam shook it. "I'm proud of you, son." John told him. " I want you to know that."

Sam nodded, unable to say goodbye for fear his voice would betray him. He stepped outside the motel and walked to the corner of the building. Without looking back, he headed for the bus station three blocks over.

###

Normally, Dean would have taken the shortest route between the local Denny's and Dad's motel, but he needed to kill some serious time today.

So instead of driving straight there and back on the street that took him past the local park, an elementary school and the bus station, Dean took the long way around. His path of choice took him through the downtown area where he saw a local pub that looked interesting. Leaving the food on the front seat, he parked along the street and made his way inside, smiling and reaching for his fake ID.

Felt like home, Dean thought, as he settled up to the bar and caught the bartender's eye. He ordered a beer and thought about Sam.

No matter what, he was going to make these past few weeks up to the little geek, he told himself as he took a sip of the smooth, cool ale.

After all, Dean didn't know what he'd do without his pain-in-the-ass little brother to make his life interesting.


	30. Expectations

Sam stood on the front porch of the well-kept little house. It was just past sunrise, barely a suitable time to come calling, but he'd had little choice. He'd taken as direct a route as he could find, making it to his destination in record time. His attention to detail had landed him on Gary Grey's door step before 6 am.

HE wondered what Dean was doing.

Sam wanted to ponder on how his brother had taken the news, but he shook his head slightly to work the sad thoughts loose then envisioned them blowing away in the frigid wind that buffeted him.

Better not to think about Dean.

He raised his hand and knocked quietly twice.

The man who came to the door was familiar - same thin frame, same thick glasses. He stared at Sam like he was still half-asleep.

"Yes?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Grey?"

"Yes."

Sam waiting a moment before continuing. "Uh, I'm Sam. Sam Winchester?"

The man's eyes went wide, "Sam Win …?" He took a step forward, looking Sam up and down, and grinned. "Well come on in. My, you made good time. I wasn't expecting you for a good day or two."

Sam nodded and stepped inside, grateful for the sudden warmth that surrounded him. He made an effort not to stare, but the polished wood floors, the walls painted in soft hues and the pervading scent of balsam made it difficult.

This didn't look like a hunter's house.

The man closed the door, rubbing cold hands up and down chilled arms. "My goodness, it's cold out there today." He glanced at Sam's threadbare jacket that was years too short. "Here, let me hang that up for you. There's a fireplace in there," He said, gesturing with one hand. "If you'd like to warm up. I'll make us some breakfast. You like sausage and eggs?" he asked, draping the jacket over a peg.

"Yes, sure. Thank you." Sam replied, his mouth suddenly watering, suddenly realizing he'd left before Dean ever made it back with the food last night.

"Orange juice okay? You're too young for coffee, right?" Mr. Grey called from the kitchen.

Sam followed the voice, stepping quietly into the spacious and modern kitchen. He sat down on a barstool at the island that dwarfed the middle of the room. "Orange juice is good." He said, "Thank you."

Mr. Gray smiled. "You're very polite, Sam, but there's no need to be really. Just call me Gary, and stop thanking me for everything. It's me who should be thanking you, actually. I have a huge hunt coming up. Needed to leave today, but I didn't think that was going to work out until your father called me." He set a frosty glass of orange juice down on the counter in front of Sam and smiled. "That sure was providential, Sam. You're really helping me out of a bind."

Sam nodded, "So what will we be hunting?" He asked, taking a sip of his juice.

Gary stopped what he was doing, going motionless over the mixing bowl where he'd just cracked six eggs.

"Me, Sam. I'm going hunting."

Sam felt a niggle of fear start way down deep. "Oh, I thought … Dad said you needed help?"

"Well, I do, but not that kind. You're 12, right?"

Sam nodded.

Gary smiled, resuming his task. "Well no offense, Sam, but I sure would never take a 12-year-old on a hunt. Your old man let you hunt?"

Sam nodded, nervous.

Gary looked thoughtful. "Hunh. How about that?" He poured the eggs into a cast-iron skillet. "I did hear that John Winchester was committed. That proves it, I guess." Gary fetched a container of ground sausage from the refrigerator and began forming it into patties. "I guess I should have asked to talk to you first, Sam. I mean, I thought your dad told you what I needed

Sam shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. If this guy was some kind of pervert …

Gary studied him, seeing his nervousness. "Just hang on a minute, okay? I want you to meet someone."

Sam nodded, clutching his drink like a weapon. Gary smiled thinly at him as he dropped a sausage patty into a second skillet and adjusted the heat to low. He wiped his hands on a dishrag, and disappeared down the hallway. When he came back, a boy who looked to be about 10 was following him. The kid looked half-asleep and more than a little cranky, Sam thought.

"Sam, this is Hyrim. Hy, this is Sam Winchester. Hy's ten."

Sam nodded at the kid, feeling his heart rate slow just a bit as Hy slipped up onto the bar stool next to him and reached for the juice.

"May I have a glass, please, Dad?"

Gary handed the boy the mate to Sam's glass and reached out to chuck the kid on the nose. "Hy has an older brother, Moses, but he's off to college now. Left last week. Sure put me in a pinch." He turned and took up another sausage patty. "Knew it was coming, you know, but it still snuck up on me."

"Dad thinks I need a babysitter." Hy grumbled from behind his glass.

"Mentor. Thank you very much." Gary corrected.

"Dad thinks I need a MENTOR." Hy repeated, annoyed.

"Dad thinks you're 10, Hy. Get over your bad self." Gary deadpanned.

Hy shook his head and turned to Sam. "You know algebra?"

Sam nodded, surprised. "You take algebra?"

"Hy here's a little ahead of his game." Gary flipped the sausage patties and turned the eggs out onto a platter. "Takes some advanced classes out at the college on Wednesdays. Rest of the week, he's homeschooled."

Sam nodded.

"You surprised?" Hy asked, blunt.

Sam met his eyes. "A little."

"Cause I'm smart or cause I'm black?"

"Because I thought I was here to hunt." Sam replied, honest.

It was Hy's turn to look surprised. "You go hunting?"

Sam nodded.

"Hunh." Hy replied, falling silent. Then, "How old were you when you started?"

"Hy." Gary interrupted, "We're not having this conversation again. What Sam does is Sam's business. What you do is mine." he winked.

Hy slouched down on the bar stool. "Just wanted to know, is all."

Sam smiled at that. He turned to the kid with all the questions. "I was 8." he shared.

Hy's eyes went wide. "You hear that, Dad? He was 8!"

Gary snorted. "I did hear it, son. And your point is?"

Hy slouched so hard he nearly made the stool shorter. "Nothing."

Sam smothered the giggle that was trying to break free at the younger boy's actions. He turned to Gary. "So, I just … like … help him with algebra and stuff?" He looked down with astonishment at the size of the breakfast the older man sat in front of him.

"And stuff." Gary elaborated. "It's the 'stuff' that makes me so glad to have you here, Sam." He said as he set an equally loaded plate in front of his son. "I'd love it if you'd hang out here with him while I'm gone. See that he gets to class on Wednesdays, help him with his math, but there's something else too, if you're willing?"

"Sure." Sam agreed absently, concentrating on the amazing taste of the eggs.

"Well, I'd like you to train Hy for me. He says he wants to hunt, and if that's true, then he'll need to be ready."

Sam halted. "Train him? Like in weaponry and stuff?"

Gary nodded. "Yep. I hear you're smart as a whip, Sam. Steady and a straight-shooter. And I didn't just hear that from your father either. I've been hearing good things about you and your brother for a while now." Gary settled up to the bar and dove into his own breakfast. "We'd be honored if you'd consider sharing some of your formidable knowledge with Hy."

Sam thought about that. "How far along are you, Hy?" He asked.

Hy shook his head. "Not at all. Moses wouldn't let Dad train me."

Gary sighed. "That part's true. Those two are thick as thieves. Moses never took to the hunt. Never wanted this life for Hy. Always wanted college and a life far apart from hunting. But Hy, here. He can't wait to get out there after his first rugaru."

Sam nodded, "Sort of the opposite between my brother and me, but Dad made sure I trained every day anyway."

Hy looked up. "You got a brother?"

Sam nodded. "His name is Dean."

"He older or younger?"

"Older."

Hy was silent for a bit, then, "You miss him?"

Sam felt his eyes water at the question. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Me too." Hy said, swiping at his eyes and turning back to his breakfast. "You won't ever be Moses, okay? So don't try."

Sam smiled sadly, instantly understanding. He met Hy's eyes. "Don't worry." He promised. "I won't."


	31. GONE Gone

Dean didn't realize he was whistling until he opened the door of the motel room and stepped inside. He aimed a smile at John, hoping that his brother and his father had come to some sort of understanding while he was out.

"Soup's on." he held up the take-out bag, grinning, and aimed his next words toward the bathroom. "Hey Sammy! Come on out. I got you some grass to graze on!" He snickered at his own joke because, damn, he was funny. Setting the food on the table, he began slipping out of his jacket.

"Your brother's not here, Dean." John said quietly.

Dean nodded. "Took a walk to cool off, did he?" the older boy sat down. "Guess that means whatever Sammy had to say didn't go over too well, hunh?" He opened the bag and rooted through, pulling out a tray coated with greasy fingerprints. He set it in front of himself and gave it a loving glance. "Come to me, baby." He coaxed, grinning. He looked up at his father.

"You're not seeing his side of things, Dad. Sam tries really hard. I don't know why you can't see it. He'd sacrifice himself for either of us any day of the week."

John nodded, raising his head. "I know."

Dean stopped. This was unexpected. "You do? Well, did you tell him?"

"I did. I told him I was proud of him." John eyed Dean cautiously, "And I shook his hand when he left."

Dean nodded, turning back to his food before the oddness of his father's last statement sank him. He looked up.

"Shook his hand?"

John nodded, watching, waiting for a reaction.

"Why would you shake his hand?" Dean felt a sudden sinking sensation in his stomach.

John stood up, walked to the window, looked out. He cleared his throat. "Because he's not coming back, Dean."

Dean stared, then snorted, turning back to his food. "He'll be back, Dad. He's 12. Tantrums are his thing these days."

"You're not listening to me, son. Sam is gone. He left. It was his idea. He … he didn't want to keep coming between us - you and me. He wanted to give you a chance to live your own life, to hunt when and where you want without always having to stay back and keep an eye on him." John studied Dean sadly. "He wanted out, Dean. I let him go."

Dean froze, the food in his mouth turning to sawdust. He spit it out into the trash can, wiping his face on his sleeve, and turned terrified eyes on his father. "What the hell, Dad! What do you mean he left and you let him? He's freaking 12!" He was up and pulling on his jacket immediately. "When did he go? Where?"

John seemed hesitant to share his next revelation. "I gave him a credit card and sent him someplace safe, someplace where he'll be useful."

Dean stared. "Useful?"

John nodded.

"He'll be fucking useful? What the hell do you think he is now, Dad?" Dean roared, his heart trying to leap from his chest. Suddenly, the fear was so thick in his mouth, he could taste it. "What the hell have you done?" He dug his phone from his pocket with trembling hands, hitting number one on his speed dial.

Dean listened as Sam's voice came on and asked him to leave a message. He whirled on his father. "Where? Where did you send my brother?"

John stepped back, meeting Dean's eyes. "I'm not going to tell you that."

Dean's face went hard. "Oh, yeah, you are." He took a step toward the older man.

But John refused to flinch. He put up a hand, calmly. "I'm not going to tell you where Sam is because he deserves this chance to prove himself. He's safe, Dean. He'll be safe. He can contact me anytime he chooses. That's all you need to know."

Dean stood still in the center of the room, feeling as though his life was ending. Sammy. Sammy was … just gone. And not just gone around the block to cool off or gone to hang out in Bobby's room while he nursed his wounds.

Gone with no forwarding address.

GONE Gone.

Dean choked back a sob and turned away, refusing to cry in front of his father. His chest hitched, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

"I can't believe you … you'd d-do this." he blurted out. "I … Dad."

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. "What, son?"

Dean sobbed. "I need him, Dad. I … can't. I … just can't." He turned and pleaded with the man who'd raised him. "Please don't do this. Not to Sam. Not to me. He needs me, Dad! Just tell me where you sent him, and I'll go get him. We'll stay away. I promise. We'll both leave you alone for the rest of your life if that's what you want, but just … don't take Sammy away. Don't take him from me. Please!" Dean hated the way his voice broke at the end of his speech, but he had no control over anything right now - not his voice, not his fear … certainly not his life. And suddenly his future flashed in front of him, a future without his scrappy, intelligent, emotional kid brother.

No more long, rambling talks when Dean couldn't sleep at night. No more wake-up calls that started with a pillow in the face. No more long drives along dusty back roads singing along to old music and punching each other in the shoulder every time they passed a minivan parked in a driveway.

No more best thing that had ever happened to him. Dean gritted his teeth. He whirled and crashed into his father, propelling them both into the wall. He fisted both hands in John's flannel shirt. "Now you listen to me. You WILL tell me where the hell you have my brother stashed! Otherwise …"

But John just stared at his son calmly, refusing to fight back. "Otherwise what, Dean? You'll punch me? Threaten me? Leave?"

"Yes to all of the above, old man." Dean growled menacingly. "There's nothing I won't do for Sammy. You should know that. It was you who planted that seed, after all."

John sighed. "That's exactly why Sam needs this space, Dean. It's why you need it. You're two different people, not two halves of the same whole. Sometimes I think you both forget that."

Dean stared at his father, nostrils flaring. He saw nothing there but resolve.

And if there was anyone on the planet who understood how unbreakable John Winchester could be when he was convinced he was in the right, it was Dean. And maybe Sam. But Sam wasn't … Sam wasn't here.

Dean shoved the older man away in disgust. "Whatever you think you're doing, whatever twisted lie you've told yourself to justify what you just did, you're wrong." he monologued, voice quaking. "I'll find Sam. I WILL find my brother, and when I do, you better hope he's in prime condition. If I find out the kid had even one rough moment over this shit storm, I'm coming for you. You get me? I'll come for you."

Dean tossed his few belongings into his duffle, grabbed his .45 and slammed out the door. He headed for Bobby's room, as broken as he could ever remember feeling.

###

Bobby was watching an old movie on the ancient television, and Caleb was fast working through a six pack when Dean crashed through the door, hysterical as Bobby had ever seen him. The older man was off the bed with his gun trained behind the youth in a heartbeat.

"What's wrong?" Bobby barked. "What's after you?"

"He took Sam!" Dean babbled. "Bobby! He took Sammy! I can't … you gotta help me. Help me find him!"

Bobby holstered his weapon and moved forward to close the door behind Dean, casting a glance out across the parking lot in the process. "Who has Sam?"

"Dad! He … he sent me for food, then he sent Sam away! He won't say where!"

Bobby stood stunned. He exchanged shocked looks with Caleb. "John sent your brother away in the middle of the night? Just … told him to go?"

Dean sunk down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "He said he gave him a credit card. Sent him someplace safe. He said Sam wanted it! Said he wanted to … to get away from us … to stop getting in between Dad and me. He said …" Dean stopped.

Bobby waited. "What, Dean? He said what?"

Dean looked up, tears streaming, "He said Sam wanted me to have a chance at … at a life. Bobby I can't. I can't have a life. Not without Sammy. I wouldn't know where to begin!"

Bobby could feel the despair emanating from the destroyed kid who sat broken and mentally bleeding. "Dean …" He started, unsure of how to make it better.

Dean without Sam. That was like … like lungs with no air, like a big pool of water when you couldn't swim. It was like having a brand new car all to yourself but having no gas to put in it.

Bobby couldn't even begin to picture it.


	32. I'm Trying

Sam sat watching quietly as Hy field-stripped his first weapon. The boys had been over and over the procedure, and now Sam was teaching his young pupil how to time himself as he worked. As Hy meticulously removed each piece and placed it off to the side, Sam wrote in a battered spiral notebook he'd brought with him from the place he still thought of as home. The rest of his school books he'd left behind on the nightstand next to the bed he shared with Dean, but he'd brought this one spiral, anticipating that he'd need some place to write down his thoughts.

Sam had always been a writer.

Any time life got too hard to bear, Sam turned to paper and pen to try and work through it. His latest lifeline was a spiral that would hold the first of a hundred letters to Dean.

 _Dean,_

 _Please don't hate me for leaving like I did. Don't hate Dad either. It wasn't even his idea, you know. It was mine._

 _I just needed to let you have some peace, big brother. All your life, you've only ever taken care of me. I always came first, Dean, and I want you to know that I realize that. And I appreciate it more than you probably know._

 _Because I don't think I ever told you._

 _And I'm sorry for that. I hope you know, somehow. I hope you know that I miss you so much it feels like every time I breathe in that it might be my last. Probably a brother shouldn't be that attached to another brother, but I can't help it._

 _It feels like part of me is still down there in Braxton, and not just any part - the best part._

 _I feel like I'm just carrying on with the little bits and pieces that are left over after the best and brightest thing has been taken away._

 _And it's okay that I say this because you'll never read it. I would never lay this on you for real, Dean. That would be selfish. But keeping this journal and writing these thoughts down, it helps me find the courage to go on when all I really want to do is to lie down and never have to get up again._

 _I thought it would get easier with time, but it doesn't. It just becomes more real. Every day that goes by is one more day I try not to think about the good times and the fact that they'll never happen again._

 _I don't know if I'll be able to keep this up for forever, Dean._

 _I try to stay busy, try to stay distracted, but then I'll see a pie in a bakery store window or see a guy in leather jacket walking in front of me down the street, and it all lands right back on my heart._

 _And it hurts, Dean. It really, really hurts._

 _Anyway, I hope you're doing better than me. I hope you've moved on, Dean. I hope you've made new friends - good ones this time - loyal friends who help you get through each school day without going crazy. I know how much you hate school, jerk._

 _I miss it though. I wish I could go back. Maybe I will someday, but for now I guess it's just not in the cards._

 _It's funny how quickly your life can spin out of your own control. I guess the joke's on me. I guess I never really was in control._

 _Tell God your plans, right?_

 _Gosh, I'm pathetic. I wonder if this whole spiral will be this depressing? I'm glad you'll never read this, Dean, but don't forget me completely, okay? Think about me once in awhile, okay? Cause I'll be thinking about you …_

Sam's revery was interrupted by Hy's happy voice as the younger boy hit the timer on Sam's watch and crowed. "I did it! I beat it!" He looked to the older boy for acknowledgement.

"Let me see." Sam grinned, looking. "Wow, Hy! You knocked 18 seconds off your time! Good job!"

"Right?" Hy beamed. "I totally got this. Now can we shoot it?"

Sam nodded. "The next time your dad goes to the range, we'll ask him, okay? But until then, it's time do the whole safety course thing."

Hy only deflated a little, which Sam took as a good sign.

"What's the safety course?"

"How to store and carry your weapon. How to hold it when you're walking behind or in front of someone. What to do with it when you're climbing a tree or slipping under a fence or just resting. We need to talk about ricochet and angles and all that stuff. You can even get hurt at a range if you don't understand about angles and ricochet." Sam reached down into the duffle at his feet and brought out the cleaning supplies.

"But for now, I'm going to show you how to clean your weapon, okay?"

Hy nodded, eyes eagerly sweeping over the gun oil and rags.

"A clean gun won't ever let you down, Hy. Remember that. It won't ever jam up when you need it most."

Sam began his demonstration, smiling softly to himself as he pictured Dean giving him the exact same spiel a lifetime ago.

" _You gotta clean your weapon, Sammy, okay?" Dean had said, sitting on Bobby's rickety porch steps. He'd brought a cleaning kit and pieces of his old Zeppelin shirt and laid the supplies out along the wood planking, pointing each one out to Sam._

" _Solvent, bore brush, rags, cleaning rod, lubricant. Got it?"_

 _Sam had nodded, fascinated._

" _A clean gun is a happy gun, Sammy. Remember that. If you don't want it to jam up or rust out on you, you gotta keep it nice and clean. Now watch me first. Then you get to try."_

Sam remembered that day like it happened yesterday. It had been a warm spring day, the smell of damp earth wafting up all around them as they sat on the steps meticulously cleaning every weapon in Dad's duffle.

To this day, Sam still liked cleaning guns, and he realized suddenly why that was.

He smiled at the memory, heart hurting, as he guided Hy patiently through the same steps that Dean had taken him through four years ago.

" _I hope you'd be proud of me, Dean."_ he thought, as he watched his young pupil hold the .45 in reverent hands, his expression rapt. " _I'm trying."_


	33. The Dawning

_**Author's Note:**_ _Thank you to everyone for your kind and enthusiastic reviews. I love them! Just wanted to add here that this is truly a work of pure fiction. I have no medical training or experience with the drug previously mentioned, so please, if you currently use it, follow your physician's instructions. This is all completely made up with the purpose of fitting into the story line and not intended to sway anyone against taking needed medication. For this reason, I've changed the name of the drug to a nonsense one. When I have time, I'll go back and change it in the earlier chapters as well. Thanks! Hope you enjoy._

Dean hung up the phone and crossed the last name of his list with an angry slash.

"I guess that's it." He said, falling quiet.

Bobby looked up in sympathy. "It's all I got, Dean. If John sent Sam off to stay with another hunter, the name should have been on that list. All the others either like to hunt alone, or they already have family to help." He explained, heart heavy.

It had been two months now. Eight weeks of Dean falling apart more each day. Sixty-odd days of driving all day and chasing down dead ends and talking with everyone they knew to try and get information.

Either nobody but John and Sam were in the loop, or someone was pretty damned great at lying. Bobby had the word out all down the line, but he'd had yet to get a call back.

And Dean, Dean was just a wreck. He was only a shell of the bright, sarcastic kid he'd once been. He just sat there at every meal staring across the table at the empty chair that would have been Sam's, that SHOULD have been Sam's, and pushed his food around on his plate.

He was losing weight at a rate that couldn't be healthy, but worst of all were the nights. Bobby lay awake listening to the sobs that Dean thought he muffled with the radio. Every night, the same routine. Dean would jolt awake around 2 am and just fall apart.

It was the saddest thing the old man had ever witnessed.

"Maybe he's not with another hunter." Dean offered out of the blue.

Bobby's brow furrowed. "Where else would he be?"

Dean sat folding and refolding the corner of the list that had been his last hope. "Maybe he's dead. Maybe Dad killed him."

He said it without feeling, monotone, like it was something he'd been thinking on but couldn't quite bear to voice.

"Balls, Dean! You know better than that!" The old hunter exploded.

But Dean wasn't shaken. "Do I?" He simply asked, catching Bobby's eye and holding it. "Do I know better, Bobby? You saw how tight Sam could wind Dad. Maybe … maybe he just snapped. Maybe we're doing all this calling and pounding all this pavement for nothing. Maybe Sam never left Braxton. Maybe he's still out there behind that motel in a sh-shallow grave. In the cold. In the d-dark." He voice broke on the last of his words, and Dean buried his face in his hands. "Sam's afraid of the dark. Has been since he was eight."

Bobby swallowed hard, overcome. He stood and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We'll find him, son. We will. You just gotta keep the faith is all."

Dean dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of melted plastic. He placed it reverently on the table and looked up. "I tried to fix it, you know." He offered, not elaborating.

Bobby picked up the small piece of black plastic, frowning. "What is it? A GPS?"

"It's a tracking device. It's linked to the watch Sam wears. Wade was tracking him with it. But I had it in my back pocket that night. It got burnt."

Bobby messed with the device, flipping a small switch and watching a red blip appear on the screen.

"That's Sam's watch." Dean said simply, hearing the blip. "It's still picking it up, but the locator is shot."

Bobby's eyes widened. "Then he's alive, Dean! There's gotta be a way we can use this!"

But Dean refused to see. "Dad could have given the watch away or ditched it, and somebody could have found it. And anyway, you think I haven't tried? You think I haven't taken the thing apart and put it back together at least 50 times? It won't tell me where he is, Bobby, but I can sit here and watch that damned dot move all around, knowing that out there somewhere, someone's wearing Sam's watch I got him."

Bobby fell silent at that, trying not to picture how that must feel - to be able to see the dot moving, to know there was that connection, and yet not be able to use it.

"Why won't he tell me where he is? How can Dad hate me, hate Sammy, that much?"

The older hunter stayed silent. He'd asked himself that same question at least a dozen times - asked it of Winchester himself that night Dean had burst in pleading for help.

But the cold-hearted bastard had refused. Instead, he'd gone his own way, without either of his sons, without help from anyone. He'd driven off in his beater of a truck, and they'd not heard a word from him since.

"I'll never forgive him for this. Never." Dean whispered quietly, but Bobby heard him anyway.

"Dean … I …" Bobby began, but was interrupted by the ringing of the landline. He held up a finger and reached for the receiver marked "hunters."

"Hello?"

"Yeah, Garth, what ya got?"

Bobby fell silent then, and when Dean looked up, he was shocked by the older man's pale face. He frowned.

"How do you know?"

"Balls!" Dean heard Bobby whisper. Then, "Yeah, I got Dean. Can probably scare up Caleb."

"No, screw John. You involved that sonofabitch, and the three of us ain't coming. You got that?"

Bobby nodded. "Where?"

"We'll be there." He said, tersely. "Yeah, I'll call down the thunder. You watch your six, Garth. We'll get there ASAP." Ending the call, he turned to Dean, "Garth's got himself into a bit of a situation." He explained, picking the phone back up. "Gotta call in some reinforcements. You with me?"

Dean stared, feeling way too numb to hunt a big bad right now, but it was Bobby who needed him, and that meant stepping up. He nodded.

###

Sam lay silent, the wind momentarily knocked out of him, but it wasn't a moment later that a teary-eye Hy was by his side, worried.

"Sam! I'm sorry! You okay?" The kid asked, shaking Sam roughly. "I didn't mean it!"

Gradually, the feeling came back into Sam's fingers and toes, and he could inhale again. He sat up, wheezing. "Wow, Hy! You learn quick!" he praised. "It took me a solid six months to master that move." The older boy rubbed his chest where Hy's sneakered foot had caught it. "Good job, little dude!"

Hy sat back, torn between accepting Sam's praise and feeling inherently guilty. "I … I didn't mean to kick you so hard, I swear!" He helped Sam struggle to his feet.

"Sure you did! That was the whole purpose of the exercise." Sam placed a reassuring hand on Hy's shoulder. "Guess that'll teach me to underestimate you, squirt." He said, teasing, knowing his words would get a rise out of the younger boy.

"I ain't no squirt. You're just a giant." Hy threw back, indignant.

Sam stared laughingly down at his young charge. "Squirt."

"Giant!"

Sam laughed. "This is the part where the older brother ruffles the younger brother's hair annoyingly," Sam shared. "I can't do that with you."

Hy thought on that. "You can rattle my dreads." He offered, grinning.

So Sam did.

###

Gary set the platter of pot roast in the middle of the table and took a seat across from Sam and Hy. It didn't escape his attention that his son was suddenly across the table from him, his seat scooted as close to the older boy's as possible.

Gary hid his smile.

"So Sam, Hy's been showing me everything you've been teaching him. You're a good instructor." He praised, handing the older boy the serving spoon and fork.

Sam smiled. He gestured to Hy to hold his plate close, then filled it with tender roast beef, potatoes and carrots, watching as Hy made a face. "No carrots. They're gross."

Sam paused. "Carrots are a staple of a hunter's diet, you know. Eyesight. Helps you detect a vampire in the dark at twenty paces."

Hy's eyes lit up with that information, and he jiggled his plate. "Come on. What are you waiting for? Give me some carrots."

Sam chuckled, spooning out a sizable serving of carrots and plopping them on the boy's plate. He glanced over at Gary. "Well, Hy's kind of exceptional."

Gary grinned. " He is that. All this and carrots too. We're lucky to have you, Sam."

Sam ducked his head shyly, suddenly interested in his meal. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Gary said, spooning up his own dinner. "Oh, by the way," He tried to sound nonchalant. "I refilled your prescription at the pharmacy. It's on the kitchen counter."

Sam nodded. "Thanks."

After a brief silence, Gary continued. "Would it be too nosy of me to ask why you have to take Resta, Sam?" He wondered.

Sam shrugged, "No, it's okay." He replied, trusting the man who was entrusting him with his son. "I … uh … had a hunt a few months back. Got exposed to some fumes." He lied. "It causes me to have these absence seizures. They're not serious or anything, but I guess I just sort of check out sometimes. The medication helps keep it from happening." He took a drink of his sweet tea.

Hy looked worried. "Can they kill you? The seizures?"

Sam smiled down at him. "Not at all, Hy. They're harmless. Unless, you know, I was driving or in the middle of a hunt or something."

Hy nodded, looking relieved.

Gary nodded, looking thoughtful. "You know, I used to take Resta, Sam. Had to stop. It … uh … it can cause you to do some pretty odd things. Did you know that?"

Sam halted his fork on his plate. "What kind of things?"

"Impulsive behavior, things you normally wouldn't do if you weren't on the medication. For me, it made me sort of irritable and depressed."

Sam thought about the words he'd written in his journal.

"I had to stop when I found myself thinking about just packing up and running away - leaving everything behind, including my kids." Gary added sadly, reaching over and grasping Hy's hand. "Just seemed like something I had to do, but it scared the life out of me, Sam."

Sam's fork fell into his plate with a clatter. He suddenly felt sick.

"Sam …" Gary continued, watching his charge closely, "I got a call from Bobby Singer today."


	34. Surprised

Bobby sighed and took a swig of his beer, adding another name to the list. That made three hunters who were willing and able to help with the thing with Garth. He checked his address book for one more name. One more man should do it. He scanned the list, landing on Gary Grey. He nodded.

He'd only met the man one time, but it had been eventful - a whole nest of vamps, aggressive as hell - but they'd worked together to take it down. Grey was good people, and if Bobby remembered right, he had two boys that might be able to help too.

He dialed, and Grey picked up on the third ring.

"Gary Grey?"

"Yes?"

"Bobby Singer."

A short pause, then, "Bobby! How you doin', you old goat?"

Bobby snorted, "You ain't no rookie yourself, Grey, last I remember. Still nearly blind?"

Gary chuckled, "Yes and yes, Bobby. How the hell are you, man? It's good to hear from you."

Bobby sighed, "Well, I ain't lying, Gary. We been better on this end, but that's a story for another day. You still hunting down Tulsa way?"

"Yep. Bought a house down here and everything. Still chopping away at it."

"Well, that's good to hear. How're the boys?"

"Good. Good. They're good. Oldest is in college."

Bobby deflated a bit at that revelation. From what he remembered, Moses was a crack shot. "That right? Hunh."

"I know. I know. It was a shock to me too. But you know, kid's gotta make his own way."

"That he does. How old's your youngest now?"

"Hy? He's ten, a real hunter in training. Got a great coach and everything."

Well, balls, Bobby thought. So much for extra hands.

"Ten? You lettin' him hunt at ten?" Bobby asked, surprised.

"Hell no! You think I'm John Winchester or something?" Gary joked. "I may be driven, but I ain't DRIVEN. You know what I mean?"

Bobby sure as hell did. Strange, Gary bringing up John like that. "Truer words, Gary. Truer words."

"I don't understand that, Bobby, is all. Not to bash your friend or anything.

Bobby snorted. "That bastard ain't no friend of mine. Not anymore. So bash the jackass all you want."

"No? I thought I remembered you two were kinda close. The boys - you spent a lot of time with them when they were kids, right?"

Bobby sighed. Normally, he'd cut this conversation off right here, but talking about the whole debacle, well, it felt therapeutic.

"Yeah, still am, you know, tight with the boys. Dean, he's here with me, but Sam … you remember John's youngest? He's been MIA for about two months now. Just disappeared one night in Braxton without a trace. Dean's not takin' it well either."

Bobby frowned at the sudden silence on the other end of the line. "Gary? You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah, Bobby. I'm here." Gary sounded shocked. "What … I mean, what happened? With Sam?"

"That's the hell of it. Whatever went down, it happened when John and Sam were alone. Those two always did butt heads, but according to John, Sam just got tired of it, offered to leave all of a sudden one night, and John jumped on the opportunity. Sent him off with a nod and a credit card and never thought another thing about sending a 12-year-old out into the cold night alone."

"So it was Sam's idea? Leaving?"

"Well, that's the version we heard anyway. Dean's been coming up with some wild scenarios though. Even went so far as to wonder if John hurt the boy."

Gary's voice went cold with that revelation. "That what was going on?"

"Who the hell knows with John Winchester? You met him. I wouldn't put it past him. Dean though, if he ever caught wind of John hurtin' Sam, well … let's just say it wouldn't go too well for the bastard."

"Hunh." Was all Gary offered.

"Hey, didn't mean to cry all over your shoulder there, Grey. That's not why I called you. You know Garth?"

"Garth? Don't think so."

"Well, he's good people. Got in a little over his head not too far from you. Bunch of us are headin' down that way tomorrow. Be there by the Wednesday. I was hoping you might be able to help us out?"

There was a short pause before Gary spoke again. "Yeah, sure. Count me in. How far from here? You can headquarter here at the house. Got a few extra rooms and a heated garage."

"You don't say? Hey, that'd be great, Gary. We'd appreciate that. You're still on Vertical Drive in Tulsa?"

"Sure am, and hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"So, John, he's not a part of this one, right?"

Bobby snorted. "Ain't exactly invitin' that asshole to the party, you know?"

"What about Dean? Is he coming?"

Bobby frowned at the odd question. "Yeah, Dean's coming with me."

"Okay then." Gary agreed. "We'll see you on Wednesday, old man."

Bobby snorted, "I'll show you old man, old man." he said, smiling and ending the call.


	35. Misunderstanding

"You know, I could kick myself for not asking to talk to you when your father called me, Sam." Gary admitted. "I don't know what I was thinking. It sounded like a solution to my problem I guess, and that was selfish of me. All I heard was that Sam Winchester needed a job and a place to stay. I didn't really stop to consider why that was. And I should have, Sam. I should have, and I'm really sorry."

Sam fiddled with his pot roast, shrugging. "It's okay. It all worked out for the best."

"Did it?" Gary sat staring at him with an intensity that made Sam nervous. "I mean there's no argument that Hy and I got a good deal, but what about you, Sam? Are you happy with the situation?"

Sam shrugged again, not meeting Gary's eyes. "I like it here. I like working with Hy." He risked a glance at the younger boy, pleased to find him grinning back.

Gary nodded. "And what about Dean?"

Sam felt his face go pale. "What about him?"

"I know all about raising brothers, Sam. Bobby tells me he's beside himself. He wasn't on board with this whole separation, was he? Bobby didn't sound too pleased either. Was this your father's idea?"

Sam shook his head. "It was my idea. Dad just … he didn't fight me on it."

"Dean thinks your father hurt you, Sam."

Sam gasped, looking up. "What?"

Gary nodded. "Bobby said Dean's been out of his mind with worry. I think you need to call him, son."

"I … he'll come here. He'll … he'll take me back." Sam stammered.

"Dad! No!" Hy interrupted. "Don't call him!"

"Hy," Gary reasoned with his son. "I want you to consider something for me, okay? Picture Moses alone at school, and he hears that you suddenly went missing. How do you think he would feel? Do you think it would be fair to let him worry if you were really okay?"

Hy fell silent, considering.

Gary turned to Sam. "Sam, does your father hurt you?"

But it was the look on Sam's face that answered the question. "No! I mean, Dad never laid a hand on me except to … to spank me. He just … we don't really get along all that well."

"But he's never done anything out of line? Never punched you or threatened you or … or done things he shouldn't have?" Gary struggled not to be too explicit in front of his son.

"No. Of course not."

"Has Dean ever done any of those things? Or Bobby? Because if you tell me yes, I'll see to it that you can stay here. I won't make you go back into an abusive situation. I don't care how hard I have to fight. Or who."

Sam shook his head. "No! Nothing like that! It's just …"

"Just what?"

"Just … Dean … he doesn't have a life because of me. Dad's made him look after me since he was four years old. He can't have a girlfriend or join a team at school or … or go on the hunts he wants to go on because I'm always there. I'm always in his way." Sam turned pleading eyes on Gary, "This is the one thing I can do for Dean. I can give him this!"

Gary looked stunned. "Did he say those things? What makes you think Dean wants that, Sam?"

Sam looked miserable. "He didn't tell me. He'd never tell me, but he … he told other people, and it got back to me. What I'm doing … I'm doing it FOR Dean, not to hurt him."

Gary nodded, sitting back in his chair. What Sam was telling him didn't jive with the picture Bobby had painted of two men going out of their minds with worry.

"I should tell you - they're coming here, Sam."

"Who?"

"Dean and Bobby and some others. We're going on a hunt, and I told Bobby they could stay here. This might be your chance to make things right with your brother. What do you say?"

"Dean's coming?" Sam was sort of surprised, surprised and pleased. As much as he wanted Dean to be happy without him, he missed his brother something fierce. "He's really coming? He said so?"

Gary nodded. "As far as I know. He's driving down with Bobby. They'll be here on Wednesday."

"I just thought …"

"What, Sam?"

"Well, that he was probably doing better without me. That he might like the freedom."

Gary shook his head. "Didn't sound that way to me, son."

Suddenly Sam's face lit up like the dawn after the bleakest winter storm. "He's really coming! Dean's coming." He turned to Hy. "He's gonna love you! You have to show him that move you tried on me yesterday! He'll never believe it."

Hy tried to be sad, but Sam's excitement was contagious. "You think he'll notice that I got moves?" He asked hopefully.

"I know he will, Hy." Sam reassured him. "You'll love Dean. He's the best big brother in the world, well except for Moses, of course."

Hy grinned. "He'd have to be pretty rad to beat Moses."

###

The more Dean thought about the upcoming hunt, the more he realized he wasn't up for it.

He had just one thing on his mind, and it wasn't watching his back, or watching anyone's back for that matter. Heading out into the game like he was feeling - well, that could just get people killed. Dean shook his head. He had to sit this one out.

"Hey Bobby."

"Hmm?"

"I, uh, I can't go with you."

Bobby looked up from the socks he was tucking into his duffle. "You can't?"

"No. I'm sorry."

Bobby was silent a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Dean was surprised, "Okay? That's it? I expected fire and brimstone."

Bobby shrugged, "I know you got a lot on your mind, kid. I ain't judging you."

"It's just, my head's not where it should be right now, you know? I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me."

Bobby nodded, "I expected as much, just do me a favor okay?"

"Sure."

"Call Gary and let him know we're gonna be a man short. He's letting us stay at his place, and it sounded like he's making up rooms for us. Number's on the table."

"Got it covered," Dean said, reaching for the phone, he pulled the number close and dialed.

###

Gary was in the shower and Hy was doing homework in his room when the phone rang. Sam answered absently, his head bent over a book of classic poetry he'd gotten at the library.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I'm calling for Gary Grey. This him?"

"He's not available to come to the phone right now. Did you want to leave a message?" Sam asked, looking around for a pen and some paper.

"Yeah, I guess. Uh, just tell him Dean can't make it down this week."

Sam's hand froze, mid-reach. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Dean Winchester. I was driving down with Bobby, but something came up."

Sam felt his heart plummet in his chest. "You're not coming?"

"No."

Sam swallowed, "Why?" The question was out before he could call it back.

Dean hesitated, considered telling whoever this was that it was none of their damned business, but something held him off. "I, uh, there's just something more important I need to do this week. I'll try to catch the next one, hunh?"

Sam nodded, suddenly understanding. "More important. Got it." He said shortly. "I'll make sure he gets the message."

Dean paused, suddenly feeling like he'd hurt the kid's feelings. This must be Gary's son, Hyrim. Bobby had said he was about 10 years old. "Listen, uh, I'd be there if I could. I just … can't."

"Yeah, you said that already. You can't come. I got it. Bye." Sam ended the connection.

Dean wasn't coming. Seeing Sam wasn't important enough.

He guessed that pretty much said it all.

Sure didn't make it hurt any less though, and Sam didn't even notice the tears until suddenly Hy was there, reaching out a hand and catching one on a finger.

"Why are you crying, Sam?"

Sam swiped at his face, embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Nothing. Nothing, Hy. I'm fine."

"You always cry when you're fine?" He asked in that grown-up way he had. "Who was that on the phone?"

Sam considered lying, but then realized he had no reason to. "It was Dean. He's, uh, he's not coming down."

Hy's eyes widened. "Did you tell him how much you wanted to see him?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think he realized it was me."

Hy's brow furrowed, "Whyn't you tell him? I'd give Moses sass if he promised to come and then called and cancelled."

Sam shrugged, "He had something he had to do. It's okay, Hy, honest. It's for the best. It's … it's what I wanted. Dean has his life back now. I can see why he doesn't want to risk rocking the boat, you know? You'll be okay for a bit if I go lie down? I'm not feeling too well just now." Sam stood, closing his book quietly.

Hy nodded. "Yeah. That's cool."

Sam smiled sadly, nodded once and headed for the stairs.

Hy sat staring at the phone, an unreadable expression on his young face.

###

Dean hung up the phone, feeling all kinds of wrong about that conversation.

"Hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"That Hyrim kid, he really lonely or something?"

Bobby looked up, confused. "That's an odd question. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Just seemed like it upset him that I wasn't coming along. I never met the kid, did I?"

Bobby thought back. "No, pretty sure. You remember Moses, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure. Moses and Gary, but not the kid, right?"

"Far as I know, Dean." Bobby shrugged.

"Hunh." Dean snorted as the phone rang. "That was weird." He said, catching Bobby's eye as he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dean?" the voice asked.

"The one and only." Dean smirked. It was a kid on the other end of the line.

"You suck."

Dean's eyes widened, he turned to Bobby, confused, and punched the speaker option.

"Who is this?"

"This is Hyrim Grey. You made Sam cry."

Suddenly, the conversation wasn't funny anymore, and Dean felt his stomach kick. "What did you just say?"

Bobby was beside him instantly, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam. You made him cry. He wants to see you. Why can't you come? What's so important that you can't come and see Sam? He had all these plans."

Dean swallowed hard. "You know where Sam is? You better tell me right now."

"You just talked to him not 10 minutes ago."

Dean blanched. The kid on the phone. The one who sounded so mad when he found out Dean wasn't coming.

"That was Sam?" Dean felt sick. How could not have recognized his brother's voice?

"Didn't you know he was here? He's been coaching me."

Dean's voice failed him. He sat slack-jawed and, for once, speechless.

"Hyrim, this is Bobby Singer. I need to speak to your dad."

"He's in the shower. I'm scared Sam's gonna leave now. I don't want him to leave. Can you tell him to stay?"

"Yes!" Dean all but shouted, "Put him on the phone, Hyrim. I'll tell him."

"He's not gonna wanna talk. I told you. He's in his room crying. We were gonna show you my new move."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to scream. "Hyrim, please. I need to talk to Sammy."

"He said you didn't need him around anymore, but I like having him around. I'll keep him if you don't want him anymore."

Dean felt his face go white. "Hyrim … I …"

"Sam said you told other people and he found out what you said about him. He was trying not to cry when he told us that too. I thought that was mean, but Sam said it wasn't. He said it was just you trying to be honest."

"Hyrim …" Bobby tried to cut in.

"I want to keep Sam here. I like him. He's a nice brother, almost as nice as Moses, and he never says anything bad about anyone, not even you, Dean. And I don't think you treat him very nice. If Moses treated me like that, Dad would kick his butt. He cries a lot too, but he doesn't think I notice. He writes letters to you in this notebook, and they make him sad. Maybe you should just stay away. Maybe that's for the best. Me and Dad, we won't make him cry every day."

And at that, the connection went dead.


	36. Make It Stop

_Dean,_

 _It was hard, talking to you tonight and you didn't even realize it was me. I guess I can't really bitch though, because I didn't realize you were you until you said so. Jerk._

 _It's hard to believe we've reached that point - that place where that sixth sense we always had ceases to exist._

 _God, I miss you._

 _I miss you, and I'm so pissed at you. You're everything to me, you know. I think about you every day._

 _How could something … ANYTHING … be more important to you than seeing me for the first time in months?_

 _When did that happen? There was a time … Well, I guess it doesn't matter now anyway._

 _I want to be happy for you. I do. But at the same time, I want you to be miserable - as miserable as I am because of how much I miss you._

 _Why can't you miss me the same?_

 _Why am I never as important to the people I love as they are to me? You? Dad? What's wrong with me?_

 _This whole notebook sounds whiny and pathetic, and I just hate myself more for writing in it, but I can't seem to stop. I don't really think it's helping me anymore. I just think it's keeping the wound raw._

 _Raw wound seems like the best way to describe how I feel, Dean. Being all alone, on my own … well, it sucks, okay? I made a mistake, okay?_

 _Please come get me._

 _Please tell me I have to come home or else._

 _Please, feel something. Anything._

 _Don't just call me up and say something MORE IMPORTANT came up. Don't do that shit, Dean because it fucking HURTS._

 _I HATE YOU._

 _i miss you._

 _I don't think I can do this much longer, Dean._

 _How do I make it stop?_


	37. Chapter 37

"Dammit, Dean! We ain't gonna get there any faster if we're both dead!" Bobby barked, digging his fingers into the dashboard.

"Sorry." Dean apologized absently, his mind miles away from the truck that had nearly just run them off the road.

Bobby sighed, "Just … watch the damned road is all. Balls! I'm gettin' too old for this crap."

Dean grinned, "You're only as old as you feel, Bobby."

The old hunter cast the boy a glare, "That bein' the case, I just took on about an extra ten years."

"I feel this need to get there fast is all. Sammy …" Dean trailed off.

"Yeah, well you ain't gonna do Sam any good from six feet under."

Dean nodded, considering. He stared across the seat. "It worries me that the kid won't come to the phone. Every time I call back he's either sleepin', or I just missed him." Dean shook his head. "Nobody sleeps that damn much."

"Well, you'll see him in ... " Bobby glanced at his watch, "About 20 minutes or so. You can ask him then. In the meantime, I'd like to keep all my body parts attached, if you don't mind."

Dean glared, "You wanna drive, old man?"

"This old man is still young enough to kick your ass." Bobby shot back. "And don't you forget it."

Dean looked away, hiding his grin. Twenty minutes. In twenty minutes they'd be on Vertical Drive in Tulsa. Twenty minutes til he saw the boy genius again.

Dean had been practicing his speech in his head since Sioux Falls. Whatever he had to do, to say, Sam was coming back with them one way or another. He didn't care if he had to hogtie the kid and toss him in the trunk. Dean was not spending another 24 hours as an only child.

It totally sucked.

No one to call him a jerk. No one to trade witty one-liners with. No one to … to sneak worshipful glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking.

Dean was well aware of how much his kid brother idolized him, or at least, used to idolize him. He wanted it back. Nobody else had ever looked up to Dean the way Sam did, or hung on his every word, or worried about how many beers he'd had to drink.

Nobody else ever asked Dean if he sure his burger was cooked completely through, or sat knee to knee with him when he was hurt just to offer quiet comfort. Nobody else cared enough to slip granola bars into his duffle when he wasn't looking or to buy those little Christmas tree air fresheners for his baby after especially dicey hunts.

If it wasn't for Sam, Dean would probably be riding around in a car that smelled like gunpowder and body fluids.

Dean missed that. And if anyone were to ask, he'd say he had a responsibility to look out for Sam. But the truth was, Sam had been looking out for him almost since he could walk and talk.

Without him, Dean felt like he'd been set adrift in a cold world of don't-give-a-damn.

Dean missed those eyes that could hold a conversation without the kid ever saying a word. He missed that habit Sam had of touching him all the time - a hand on his shoulder, a brush against his arm. It was Sam's way of signalling solidarity. He did it every time they took a job together with other hunters, and he did it anytime Dad was around. If they were out in a crowd - just getting lunch or walking through a supermarket, Sam was right there, letting Dean know his back was covered.

Dean needed that affirmation, thrived on it even. Without it, life sucked.

Dean was well-prepared to do some serious boot-licking if that's what it took to get his little brother back. He reminded himself of that as they pulled into the driveway of 601.

###

Sam steeled himself when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the drive. He plastered the fake smile on his face and fought to still his trembling hand. He took a deep breath and opened the door, surprising Dean who had his hand poised to knock.

For a moment, the brothers were face-to-face, eye-to-eye, and then Dean was pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace that didn't even allow for breathing.

"H-hi, Dean." Sam stammered. "It's good to see you."

"Murffeid, Samdkei." Dean replied, his face buried in Sam's shoulder.

Sam's eyes shot to Bobby, questioning, but the older man just shrugged and grinned.

Then Dean was pushing away, keeping his hands firmly locked on Sam's shoulders. "You EVER pull an asshole move that like AGAIN, Sam, and I'll kick your ASS!" the older boy warned. Then he was tugging him close again and burying a hand in his hair. "Seriously, Sammy. I almost didn't survive this little stunt. What the hell were you thinking?"

Sam let his eyes drift shut, a genuine smile forming.

He'd missed this. This right here. He could easily stay right here like this forever. But then he realized how unfair that would be to Dean, and it gave him the courage to pull away. Ignoring his brother's hurt look, Sam turned to Bobby, stuck out his hand.

"Hi Bobby. It's good to see you."

Bobby looked momentarily confused, but he took the hand Sam offered. "Sam." He said. "Sure glad you're okay. You had us all … worried."

Sam blushed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. I thought …" He let his voice trail off, eyes wandering, unbidden, to Dean. Then he shook himself almost imperceptibly and pasted the smile back in place. "Come on. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Sam, I thought we could talk …" Dean started to argue, but Sam countered with a dismissive wave.

"We have plenty of time for that later if you want." He said, making an effort to sound unconcerned.

"What? Of course I want!" Dean was poised to argue, but just then a kid appeared and slipped his arm around Sam's waist.

And then Sam slipped his arm around the boy's shoulders and pulled him close, and Dean was suddenly struck with the feral urge to growl like an animal.

"This is Hy." Sam introduced them. "He's been waiting to meet you."

Hy stared at Dean defiantly. "You're Dean?" He asked, voice unreadable.

Dean stared down at him. "Last time I checked." He kidded, going for ice-breaker. But the kid just continued to stare him down. "Dad's in the kitchen." He said, finally.

"Well … good." Dean fumbled. His eyes shot to Sam, and he swore he saw laughter there. The two swiveled as a single unit and led the way to the kitchen, and Dean and Bobby were left alone to follow.

"Dad. They're here." Hy announced, like he'd just heralded the arrival of the garbage truck. The kid slipped out of the room then, but Dean saw him whisper in Sam's ear before he left. Sam smiled and nodded, and the kid shot Dean one more look of … something. Then he was gone.

Bobby poked Dean in the side. "Seems you made a fan." He chuckled. "And not here even 10 minutes."

"Shut up." Dean pouted. "He just hasn't sensed my charm yet, is all. He'll come around."

"Yeah, no." Bobby mumbled.

Dean's snarky reply was lost when Gary stepped forward and grabbed Bobby's hand. "Singer! You old coot! Man! The huntin' life don't look good on you!" He grinned, pumping.

Bobby's eyebrows shot skyward. "Least I ain't ALL gray." he shot back, staring pointedly at the man's hair.

Gary laughed happily. "Well, can't argue with the truth, Bobby." He turned to Dean. "Dean, it's good to see you again. You got tall, man."

Dean nodded, "Well, that was about six years ago."

"And don't time fly? Now I got dinner nearly ready. So why don't you two sit up to the bar here and I"ll pour up a little before-dinner cocktail, hunh?"

Bobby sat down, lapsing into easy conversation with the man he hadn't seen in nearly a decade. But Dean moved over to stand next to Sam, catching the boy's eye. "Sammy, we need to talk." He said in a voice that allowed no argument.

And when Sam looked back at him, Dean saw … something … in his eyes that suddenly scared him. He wanted to pull the kid close and never let him go. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, and Sam was smiling that same disconcerting smile.

"We can go talk in my room if you want?" He offered.

Dean stood, surprised. "You have a room?"

"Of course I have a room. I live here." Sam replied, leading the way up the stair. "Gary doesn't make me sleep in the garage, you know." He teased.

"You don't LIVE here, Sam." Dean shot back, angry. "Maybe you've been STAYING here, but you don't LIVE here."

Sam remained silent, stopping at the door at the top of the stairs. "This one's mine," He said, throwing the door open. He stepped inside and Dean followed, closing the door behind him.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Sam asked neutrally, taking a seat on the bed. He slid back to lean against the headboard in an effort to look nonchalant and threaded his hands behind his heads to hide the shaking.

Dean stood silent, taking it all in. The room was small, but neat. If Dean had to think of a word that described it, he'd lean toward cozy. There was the double bed dressed with a plain, green comforter and what looked to be two king-size pillows. The floor was thickly carpeted in a sensible beige Berber. And around the room were bookcases and a desk. Dean recognized a few of Sam's belongings strewn about here and there - a soccer trophy from a few years back, a framed photograph of the two of them together outside Bobby's salvage yard. But for the most part, Dean felt he could be standing in a stranger's room.

Dean brought his eyes to Sam, lounging on the bed. "I want to talk about us, Sam. About you. About you … leaving. What the hell? You had to know I'd go crazy looking for you? What the hell were you thinking?"

Sam stared straight back, shrugging. "You can sit at the desk if you want." He said, avoiding the questions Dean had just thrown at him.

Dean nodded, taking a seat. "Well?"

Sam sighed, "It was time, Dean."

"Sam, you're freaking 12, not 32."

"Doesn't change anything."

Dean counted to 10 inside his head. This wasn't going the way he'd planned it. "Look, just … we can talk on the ride back, okay? You got your stuff packed up?"

Sam blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. There were the words he'd been wanting nothing more than to hear since the day he'd left. Dean, coming to the rescue. Dean taking him home. God, Sam wanted that so badly, wanted it so badly he could almost physically feel the deep rumble of the Impala enveloping him - wrapping him up in safety and comfort.

Nothing bad could ever happen to Sam as long as Dean was there.

But where did that leave Dean?

Trapped. Smothered. Stuck.

Sam couldn't accept the lifeline that his brother extended because if he did, Dean would eventually grow to see him for the burden he was.

Sam was baggage. He was responsibility. He was that storage unit full of forgotten things that you eventually stopped paying on because you no longer remembered or cared what was in it.

One day, Dean would wake up, and he'd have that realization - that epiphany - that he'd wasted his whole life paying for a moth-eaten couch and a few boxes of knick knacks that he didn't even like anymore.

Dean would hate him then.

And Sam could stand just about anything this world could dish out.

But not that.

Dean hating him … No, that he would never survive.

He made a decision.

"I'm not coming back with you, Dean." He said and shattered into a million tiny pieces.


	38. Revelations

"You're 12, Sam. I can MAKE you come with me." Dean had threatened as a last resort. "You're still my family. You're still a minor."

But Sam had parried, "You could, but I'd just run again, Dean. Anything could happen to me out there, on the road, by myself. At least if I'm here, you'd know I'm safe, right? You'd know I'm h-happy." Sam had sat there, looking like he'd lost his best friend, yet threatening Dean's worst nightmare.

Dean had sat, rooted in the desk chair, listening, His elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He'd struggled to keep his voice even. "Why are you doing this, Sammy? I don't get it."

Dean was sure Sam had blinked back tears at the tone in his voice, but the kid was adamant. "I can't come home, Dean. I'm sorry. I … I just can't. You've got to let me go."

Dean ran a frustrated hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts. Then he'd looked up at the kid brother who'd been his whole world for over a decade.

"How am I supposed to do that, hunh? You tell me, Sam. How do I do that?"

Sam had swiped at his face and sniffled, "You just do, Dean." He'd gotten up then, and strode to the door, pausing. "Dinner should be ready." He'd said without looking back. Then he was through the door and gone.

And now Dean sat behind the wheel of the Impala, alone. Bobby was staying for the hunt, but Dean … Dean couldn't bear one more minute of watching Sam interact with his new family. It was tearing a hole in his heart.

Sam wouldn't even give him a proper goodbye. He'd just barricaded himself in his ROOM and said his goodbyes through two inches of reinforced wood.

Dean shook his head, putting the car into gear. He backed down the driveway but was stopped by Hy. The kid ran toward him carrying a book in his hand.

"Great." Dean muttered. "Just what I need. A sit down with Sam's new brother."

But Hy had run right up to the door and pushed the book, which Dean realized was actually a spiral-bound notebook, into his hands. "You don't get it." The kid had informed him cryptically. Then he'd given Dean a look that would haunt the older boy forever and just walked away. Dean was left staring at the tattered notebook that he recognized from the motel in Braxton. Sam had used it for school, Dean was sure. He must have brought it with him. He frowned, thumbing through it back to front. He stopped on the last entry, dated for the night before.

 _Dean,_

 _I know I hurt you. I know you don't understand. But I can't be responsible for letting you throw your life away. Dad won't do anything about it, so I'm going to._

 _You've always looked out for me. Always made sacrifices. Now it's my turn. This is killing me too, Dean, but it's the right thing to do. I can get along here. I'll be safe. I can be happy. At least, I think I can. I know it's not the same as us being together, but you deserve your own shot at happiness, you know. You deserve a girlfriend and the freedom to come and go as you please without having to worry about whether your kid brother got dinner or made it home from school okay or remembered to salt up behind you after you went out._

 _What kind of a life is that? You're sixteen. You should be dating the hottest girl in school and taking her to the movies on the weekends. You should have the chance to get a part-time job that pays you in money instead of in the smelly carcasses of dead things. You should be worrying about grades and hanging out with your friends on Saturdays and deciding who you'll ask to the prom._

 _You shouldn't be stuck taking care of your jerky kid brother who was stupid enough to get himself beaten up and drained by monsters. You shouldn't have to steal money from strangers to buy toys for me because you feel guilty that Dad never did it._

 _The chances that you take and the lengths that you're willing to go to for me are terrifying, Dean. That's not what I want for the brother who's already sacrificed more than anyone should ever have to._

 _That's not the life you should have, and just because John made a bad choice when he had me - that doesn't mean you should be the one to pay the price._

 _I'm just a kid, Dean. I don't hold any power really. I can't get my own place or get my own job to help pull my weight._

 _I can't do anything, really, to help lighten the load that was forced on you._

 _But I can do this._

 _Let me do this, Dean._

 _You'll never know how much it's killing me to push you away. It makes me feel like dying - like I'm already dead._

 _But it's the right thing to do. If I know anything at all, I know this._

 _I'm sorry I didn't say a proper goodbye. I just can't, you know? I can't watch you leave. I can't see the pain in your eyes. That's not why I'm doing this. I'm not trying to hurt you._

 _The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt the most important person in my life._

 _So just let me go. Please?_

 _We'll be together again someday, when I'm older and not so much of a burden, okay?_

 _We can do this. I know we can. I can survive this, and so can you._

 _Go, Dean. Be happy. Find a girlfriend. Join the baseball team at the next school in the next town Dad plops you in. Go with Dad on the interesting hunts, and learn everything you can about all the supernatural baddies. I know how much you love that, Dean. And know that I'll be here cheering you on._

 _But, God, I'll miss you big brother. I want_

The entry ended there. Whatever it was that Sam wanted hadn't made it onto the page, and Dean was sure that the wrinkles dotting the paper had been made by teardrops.

He was wrinkling it even more just trying to get through to the end of Sam's poignant plea.

Dean put the car in park and swiped at his face.

Damn, this kid. Damn this wise-beyond-his-years, heart-too-damned-big kid.

Dean sat there, wondering how in the hell he was going to fix this.

###

Sam heard the Impala rumble to life and pull away. He threw himself on his bed, then, face-down, and let the tears come.

He wanted to die. He just wanted to die. The look in Dean's eyes …

He reached for his notebook, finding just the pen. He was still searching when the knock sounded on his door.

Sam hastily wiped his face and snicked the lock, pulling the door open, he found Hy, shifting from foot to foot and looking worried.

"You okay, Sam?"

Sam sniffed, tried to smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just got a bit of a headache is all." Sam turned, his eyes sweeping the room. "Hey, Hy. You haven't seen my notebook, have you?"

At that, Hy looked positively guilty. He bit his lip. "Oh. Yeah, about that, Sam …"

Sam stared at him, realizing instantly what the boy had done. "Hy, you didn't …" Sam felt his face grow pale as he tried desperately to remember everything he'd written in that book that was never, ever meant for anyone else's eyes, least of all Dean's.

"I'm sorry, Sam!" Hy admitted, pleading. "It's just … you were so unhappy! And Dean, he just didn't get it! You left it open that one time, and I saw just the one page. It was all stuff that you should tell Dean! He should know how you really feel, is all." Hy explained.

Sam sank helplessly down on the edge of the bed. "Why, Hy? Why would you do that?" He asked softly, near tears again. "Do you want me to go? Is that it?"

And inwardly, Sam cringed. Was this just another person whom he cared about wanting him to leave? He wasn't sure he could survive that.

Not again.

But Hy threw himself into Sam's arms then, removing the older boy's doubts. Hy gripped him tight, spindly arms wrapped around Sam's neck like an octopus. "I DON'T want you to leave, Sam. But I want you to be happy! Isn't that what you're doing for Dean? Making a sacrifice for someone you … you love?"

Sam buried his hands in Hy's braids and smiled through the tears he could no longer hold back. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the embrace of someone who honestly cared about him, and when he opened them again, Dean was there, standing in his doorway, his own face wet with tears. In his hands, he held Sam's notebook.

Hy pulled back when he felt Sam stiffen, he followed his friend's eyes to the doorway and smiled. Stepping back. He addressed Sam, "He needs to know, Sam. You need to … to tell him." The younger boy smiled once at Dean as he slipped past him out into the hallway.

Dean and Sam were alone then, Dean's throat working but nothing coming out. "Sammy …" He managed, and his voice was wrecked. He just stood there and opened his arms, and like a magnet, Sam was drawn in.

"It's not true, Sammy." Dean mumbled into Sam's hair. "All that stuff you wrote. You're not a burden. You've never been a … a chore for me. Never. It's never been like that. I look out for you because I want to, because you look out for me. It's not because Dad makes me do it, okay?" Dean tightened his arms around his little brother. "This is a real chick moment, Sammy." He laugh-snorted, "But you gotta know. None of that is true. I swear. I'm just … I don't know what to do with you gone."

Sam remained silent, trying desperately to smother the sobs that made his body quake in his brother's arms.

"Sammy. All that stuff that Wade … all that stuff that I … that I said. It didn't happen like that. I swear. I NEVER, ever said that I wished you were gone or worse. I just smoked that crap and it made me an asshole, and I said stupid stuff, Sam. None of it was true. Not a word of it was true. I need you to know that." He pulled back, holding Sam at arm's length. He wrestled a piece of hair away from his brother's eyes and pleaded with him to hear. "I know I screwed up, Sam. I know I made you feel like I didn't want you around. And I don't blame you for leaving. I don't. I just … I can't keep on like this. I miss you. You might be a pain-in-the-ass little brother sometimes, but you're MY pain-in-the-ass little brother, you know? That makes all the difference, Sammy." Dean pulled him close again. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry. Please come back to me."

And it was the 'come back to me' that broke the younger boy. Suddenly, all he could do was nod frantically in Dean's embrace and sob.

But Dean heard him, even though he hadn't spoken. It was that sixth sense they'd shared in the past and that would follow them forever into the future.

Dean breathed for what felt like the first time in months. "Good. That's real good, Sammy." He smiled, more relieved than words could ever express. He tightened his arms around the lanky kid that was the other half of his whole. "That's real good."


	39. Like Home

Dean shook his head, amused. In the backseat, Hy struggled to roll the juggling ball along his arm without letting it drop. And in the front seat, Sam attempted to help by issuing instructions.

Except Sam's instructions were accompanied by helpless giggles, which, in turn, prompted Hy to dissolve into giggles, which, in turn, made the inside of the Impala sound like a preschool classroom after a cupcake party.

"Stop making me laugh!" Hy ordered, snorting as the ball fell, once again, into the wheel well.

"Sorry!" Sam replied. "You … you just look like a giraffe or something." he added, helpfully. "You're supposed to move your arm in a wave motion, not your … your neck." He dissolved into giggles again on the last word.

"Sam!" Hy tried to sound severe, but failed. He shot Sam a stern look. The older boy met it and attempted, without success, to look serious. The boys locked eyes for a minute, then looked away, exploding into laughter.

Dean shook his head. "Is this what the next three months are gonna be like?" He asked, trying to sound annoyed.

But both boys saw right through him.

"Sir, yes SIR!" Sam saluted him from the passenger seat. "Calming down, SIR!" Then he snorted again.

"Hey, bringing me along was YOUR idea." Hy added, grinning mischievously.

"Don't remind me." Dean groaned. "Hey, your dad was needed on the hunt, okay? Taking you along with us to Bobby's just made sense."

But Hy wasn't fooled. "You like me. Admit it. Everyone likes me. I'm irresistible." he crowed.

Dean tried to hide his grin. The kid had kind of grown on him in the week he'd spent in Tulsa. Besides, he was good for Sam. Suddenly his little brother had a built-in friend - someone to take his mind off all the stress and loneliness of the hunting life.

Not someone to take Dean's place though, the older boy was sure. He shot a glance at Sam to see the kid staring straight back at him and smiling in his reassuring way. Sam even shook his head almost imperceptibly.

That sixth sense was so spot-on, it was almost creepy, Dean thought, as he flipped on his headlights and made the cloverleaf for Sioux Falls. From the rear view mirror, a red Christmas tree swayed with the movement, releasing a waft of cinnamon spice.

Dean thought it smelled like home.

-THE END-

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Gosh, thanks to everyone for sticking around for 39 chapters! You guys rock! Thanks for all your positive thoughts and encouragement. It means the world :)_


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